Alone With Him
by iamtheredangel
Summary: Canada finds himself a prisoner of Russia. What does Ivan want with him? Russia x Canada
1. Chapter 1

Canada gazed out the window. His head slumped over his folded arms, his eyes listless and dull. Gazing, always watching, and almost never moving.

The scenery was beautiful. Mountainous, snowcapped peaks, mighty evergreens so much like the ones back at his home. The grass was green and thick and wild sunflowers grew everywhere. He supposed by now it was summertime here.

There was movement outside his window.. butterflies flitting about, or other insects. Sometimes a bird would fly by. Matthew's gaze would momentarily focus and follow the bird until it was out of sight.. then would go unfocused and the world was dull again.

Birds and insects were the only things that moved beyond that window. Besides them it was a vast forest of empty nothingness.. not a sign of another person, a house, a car.. anything. Just trees and a lonely mountain range in the distance.

Canada was a prisoner.

He was locked inside a tiny little log cabin exactly in the middle of a huge expanse of Nowhere. It had a bed, a chair, a small washroom with a sink, toilet and shower stall. There was a small window where Matthew sat for long hours staring, and a large, heavy wooden door that was locked from the outside. There was a fireplace with three logs, but no matches. How he longed for matches to light a fire and warm up!

The cabin was chilly, very chilly.. especially at night. Even in summer it was cold here. All he had were the clothes he was kidnapped in - a red hoodie and a pair of light jeans. He took the blankets from the bed, and he wrapped himself in them for warmth. They were made of wool and were grey and dirty and scratchy.

There was a bearskin rug. It's flattened body and intact head, it's great, gaping maw of a mouth still lined with most of it's teeth. It's eyes were open but dead and cold and gave Matthew the creeps.

There were no books, there was no television, no games. There was an oil lamp hanging in the rafters of the ceiling, but even from the chair Matthew couldn't reach it to turn it on. He was not tall enough. He would go long nights in the dark and cold by himself, shivering.

He couldn't understand why he'd been brought here, nor why he was being kept here. All he remembered was a fine early Spring day, months ago, he'd been walking through the woods near his home. He loved to hike through his woods, and it was beautiful and warm outside - the first day after a long, cold, hard Winter.

He'd needed to clear his mind after the last world meeting he'd attended. He hadn't had the chance to say much - he never did - but listening to the rising tempers of the nations around him caused him anxiety. There was dispute over resources. There was anger over failing economies. There was bad debt and pollution and threats of weapons.

Canada worried for the other nations. He always worried for everyone, but most of all he worried for his big brother America. America had been extra pushy with other nations lately. So much so that Russia had become so angry he was now refusing to attend world meetings. Canada had eyed Russia's empty chair and noticed China gazing at it as well. China looked disinterested in everything America had to say. Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania looked uncomfortable.. like they shouldn't be there. Ukraine's eyes were red rimmed and tired looking, as if she'd been crying. Belarus looked murderous.

Canada was worried. Things were going so very wrong. He thought a nice walk in the woods would give him time to think about what he would say to his brother. He had to convince him to back off a little bit - give the other nations some space - especially Russia and China. He knew America was unlikely to listen to his little brother.. but he had to try.

It was then that a large figure stepped out from behind a tree. Matthew was startled nearly half to death, but he didn't have time to scream before his head was bashed with something heavy. The world went instantly black and he felt himself falling. And then..

And then..

He woke up here. In the little log cabin. In the middle of nowhere. Locked in.

In the first few months he barely saw his captor at all. Once a week perhaps, or maybe twice if he was lucky. And only for a few, brief seconds. Long enough for bits of food - bread or hard biscuits - to be shoved through the heavy wooden door. Matthew would spring up from the bed or the window, his small fists flying, trying to attack the man who brought him here, trying to escape! At best the door was quickly slammed shut in his face and locked tightly and his captors heavy footsteps would fall away without a word. At worst he would receive a beating that left him bruised and swollen and in pain. Once he was hit so hard across the face that he flew backwards onto the bearskin rug. His food was tossed at him, then the door slammed and locked. And he was left alone to nurse his aching head.

He would curl up in the bed and cry himself to sleep every night.

In the beginning Canada gobbled the food scraps he was given greedily and all at once, but then paid for it later when his captor would not return for days. He would grow so delirious with hunger that his mind would begin to hallucinate. He dreamed of a showy rescue by his brother. America would show up and blast a hole in the wooden door. Canada would rush out and crash into his arms, crying for joy. America would pick him up and carry him away to safety and try to feed him full of hamburgers.. but then he would remember how much Matthew loved donuts, Kraft Dinner and pancakes and feed him those instead.. as much as he wanted until the hunger went away.

Other hallucinations sometimes involved England or France.. his two fathers.. coming to rescue him.. or even his own boss.. but none shone more brightly in his mind than his brother, America. America the hero. America, the very often annoying, but powerful brother who protected him and kept him safe at all times. Except for now.

After three months Matthew stopped hoping for a rescue. Perhaps he was completely forgotten. After four months he stopped trying to find a way to escape. The window wouldn't shatter, and his captor was far to big to ever hope to fight. He was beaten back from the door every time, effortlessly. It was hopeless.

Eventually he accepted that he was stuck in the log cabin, a prisoner. This brought an odd sense of peace to him, and the hallucinations became nothing more than fond wishes on stars he saw from the window at night. He filled his days with keeping the inside of his cabin clean, as best he could. He washed his bedding and himself in the small bathroom sink. He began to ration the food he was given. His stomach ached from hunger a little less as he learned to control his eating.

He stopped screaming and fighting for escape when the wooden door was opened and food was thrown in. Instead he kept as far away from the door as he could when he heard the key in the lock, then would whisper "Thank you," to his captor before he left. He would wait until the large man was gone before going to pick up the food and sort it for rations.

Over time he noticed that being quiet and polite made his captor come back more often. And the food got better and more plentiful. Instead of just bread and dry biscuits, he would receive bits of meat and cheese. Hardboiled eggs were just too good to ration and he ate those right away.

One day, he was laying on the bed daydreaming about one of his brothers movies when he heard the lock click in the door. He scrambled off the bed and rushed to the back of the cabin furthest away from the door. He crouched on the floor, his arms around his knees and he watched for what food would be tossed in through long strands of his blond hair.

His eyes widened in surprise and fear when Ivan stepped in, a tray in his hands. His heart stopped in his chest, fear sending awful visions of Ivan beating him with the tray. But no! He was behaved now! He was nowhere near the door!

He hadn't seen more than fleeting glimpses of the Russian in all the months he'd been there. No more than his arms and fists and boots, really. Yet there he was now, standing in the room, tall and formidable, large and gloriously frightening, looming and with a tray. Matthew shivered with fear and shrunk into the wall as far as he could.. but he couldn't help but notice that there was something on the tray. It appeared to be a bowl. A steaming bowl of.. something.

Matthew watched as Ivan focused his eyes to the lower light inside the log cabin. Tho it was daytime and there was sunlight streaming in from the window, it was not nearly as bright in the cabin as it was outside. The Russians eyes found the little Canadian against the back wall and a little smile crossed his features. Matthew began to tremble.

"I brought you good food, da?"

Words. A voice. A sentence. Russia had spoken to him. Canada hadn't heard a single sound other than what nature offered through a muffled window in all the months he was held here. When Ivan had come to the door before he was completely silent, even through the various beatings.

Canada trembled harder, his eyes glued to Ivan's face and nowhere else. The Russian just stood there, smiling, with the tray that had the steaming bowl of.. something. The door was open behind him.. but Matthew didn't take note of that. He was captivated by Ivan and his violet eyes. He clung to the sound of his voice.

The Russian spoke again, and Matthew thought he would lose his mind over the sweetness of sound, of language.

"Good food, for a good boy."

Good boy? The words themselves made little sense to Matthew at the moment. It was only that he was hearing words at all that sent tingles of excitement up his spine.

The smell of the food touched his nostrils. His stomach growled, but he didn't move from his spot cowering at the back wall. His gaze never left Ivan's face.

Ivan bent and put the tray of food on the floor. He turned and shut the door and locked it with the key. He took the chair from the window and sat in it, gazing at Matthew all the while.

Canada stayed where he was. He was terrified. Ivan had been fists and silence all this time, and now suddenly he was so very near and sitting peacefully, watching him after presenting him with food. Warm food. He could see little tendrils of steam rising from the bowl.

"Is ok, Matvey," Said the Russian, speaking ever so softly, as if to a frightened kitten, "Eat the food I brought for you."

Was this a trick? An invitation for another beating? But no.. he'd been good. Hadn't Ivan said so? He no longer tried to fight and escape.

Slowly, carefully, Matthew forced his body away from the wall. Keeping his eyes on Ivan the entire time, he krept towards the food tray. Nearing it, he saw the bowl had a sort of red stew with potatoes carrots, onions and beets. It looked foreign and strange.. but smelled like heaven.

There were no utensils.

Awkwardly, he picked up the bowl to bring it to his lips to sip.. but it was too hot. He blew on it and had to wait patiently for it to cool enough to eat. Gradually he was able to tilt the bowl into his mouth and pour in it's contents in small enough bites that he wouldn't choke on. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. He forgot about rationing and ate greedily. He slurped at the stew until the bowl was empty, and then licked at the the sides, trying to get any remaining flavour into his mouth and into his stomach.

Russia watched with a smile on his face.

Canada put the bowl down and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He hurried back to the opposite side of the cabin to crouch against the wall again. His eyes were fixed on Ivan, watching him carefully.

Ivan chuckled and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands.

"Let me tell you a story, Matvey," He spoke, and Matthew found himself hanging on to every word, thrilled, tho frightened, that Ivan would stay and talk to him for awhile.

"I will tell you the story of Morozko. Of Old Man Winter. It is an old tale that my people tell to their children when they put them to bed."

Ivan began the tale. Matthew listened to the heavily accented words as greedily as he'd slurped down the strange red stew earlier.

The story was about a man with a daughter who married a widowed woman who had a daughter of her own. The widowed woman hated the mans daughter and sent her out to freeze in the woods one night. Morozko - Old Man Winter - came to her and she did not complain that she was freezing. He gave her warm clothes and jewels. Her father fetched her from the woods in the morning and the widowed woman was amazed. That night she sent her own daughter into the woods to wait for Morozko. When he came to her she complained and told Morozko that his coldness was making her hands and feet numb. When the father came to fetch her the next morning she was dead.

"And so, Matvey," Said Ivan, "You should always have respect for Old Man Winter. But you know that, don't you? Is cold where you come from too?"

Canada stared at Ivan. He shivered from the story.

"Is ok, Matvey. Talk to me." It was a command, not a request.

Matthew nodded slowly. He had to clear his throat to make it work, and even then he could barely squeak out his answer. It had been so long since he last spoke.

"Yes.. Canada is cold. Some parts are as cold as Russia."

Ivan smiled and stood up. He picked up the tray and bowl and went to the door. Matthew couldn't tell if he was relieved or terrified to see him go.

"We have that in common, da? Our cold. You be good, Matvey, and I will make you warm."

Then Ivan left, locking the door behind him. The sound of his footsteps faded away. Matthew was alone again. The empty feeling in the little cabin grew so big that he began to cry. He felt cold, as if Old Man Winter were about to appear even tho it was Summer. In spite of himself he wished Ivan would come back. He wished he was warm.


	2. Chapter 2

Russia came back the next evening with another bowl of borscht. Same as before, he set the tray down on the floor and sat down in the chair and waited patiently for Canada to work up his nerve, creep his way to the food, and eat.

When the last drop had been licked clean from the bowl, Matthew set it down on the tray and savoured the feeling of warm food making it's way to his empty stomach. The feeling was soothing. It temporarily lifted his fear and awareness of Ivan sitting only a few feet away. It allowed him to close his eyes and relax.

Ivan rose from his seat. Matthew snapped to attention and shrank back, falling over himself in a scramble to the far end of the cabin.

"Tsk," said the Russian, smiling, "So jumpy, Matvey. Why? I brought you food again, and something else this time."

Ivan went to the door and opened it, walking out into the night. Canada blinked after him, open mouthed. His mind was churning. The door was open.

He left the door open! Matthew could run! He could leap up and dash madly out the door and run into the night and find help! He could run home! He could run back to the safety of his home and to his brother!

He.. he could just sit there.. on the floor.. shivering.. feeling afraid.. and doing nothing.

A few minutes later Ivan walked back in. In his arms he carried logs and kindling for the fireplace. In his pocket he had matches.

Canada sat trembling in the corner at the back of the cabin, hugging his knees tightly. He watched as the large man set about making a fire. It wasn't long before one was crackling away merrily in the hearth. It warmed the tiny log cabin almost immediately. It sent orange light dancing through the room.

Matthew was instantly mesmerized by it.

The door was still open. Was the Russian testing him?

"Oh, guess I'd better close this, da?" Ivan chuckled, pushing the heavy door closed. He didn't lock it. "It is chilly in my country all the time, even in Summer. It makes me strong."

Canada's mind finally began processing what the Russian was saying. Cold makes him strong. If Ivan's large stature was proof of cold's strength giving properties then yes, it did. But the cold didn't make Matthew strong. He didn't see Winter as a scary old man who could choose to give you jewels or kill you. He saw Winter as a play thing. An excuse to play hockey, go tobogganing, ski-dooing.. and of course drink hot chocolate from Tim Horton's every night while curled up in a blanket with a good book.

Ivan pulled the chair over to sit in front of the fire. He took off his gloves, put them in another pocket and rubbed his hands together, warming them. Matthew watched him warily, still curled up as far away as possible.

It was silent for a few minutes, except for the occasional pop and hiss of the fire. Ivan seemed to be waiting. But Canada didn't move.

"Come sit with me." Another order.

Matthew krept towards the fire carefully. He settled on a spot on the bear rug a few feet away from Ivan.

"No, not there Matvey. Here."

The Russian gestured to the spot in front of him. Between his legs. Matthew was horrified. So close? He pictured large hands closing around his throat, choking him.. or worse.. shoving him face first into the fire. He shuddered.

"Now!" Ivan barked the order and Canada startled into motion, shuffling to the space between the Russians legs. The chair Ivan was sitting on meant his thighs and knees were at the same level as Matthews shoulders. He was surrounded by a man who could snap his neck in an instant. He curled his arms around his knees and shivered uncontrollably, staring at the fire, trying not to touch Ivan at all even tho the Russian was so close behind him.

Ivan didn't touch him, but Matthew could actually feel the Russian's temper easing back down to safe levels now that he had been obeyed. He could hear the Russian breathing, relaxing. He knew the smile was back in place. He felt the heat both from the fire before him and the huge man behind him. He regretted his wish for Ivan to make him warm, but despite his fears.. nothing happened for a long while. Ivan sat and watched the fire, same as Matthew, silently. No death from choking or maiming from fire.

After awhile, in spite of himself, Matthew began to relax.

"Do you see things in the fire?" The Russian asked him softly.

Matthew jumped. Any feeling of safety he'd had before quickly drained from his body when he felt the Russians hand on his shoulder.

"E...eh..?"

The hand caressed him gently.

"The fire. When you stare, do you become lost and see things?"

Fingers began petting and stroking through locks of his golden hair.

"Er.. well.. sometimes b-but.. I.. I like t-to watch the f-fire..flies.."

He loathed himself for the way he stammered when he was nervous. At home he could give presentations and speeches in front of his boss and countrymen with effortless ease. At world meetings he tripped over his words and sounded like a buffoon. Sitting here with Ivan.. what hope did he have?

"Fireflies?" Ivan asked, sounding genuinely curious, "Insects in fire?"

"N-no.." said Matthew, swallowing a huge lump in his throat. The Russian's second hand had joined it's mate on his other shoulder. They were resting there peacefully, the thumbs occasionally rubbing very gently. "W-when the w-wood pops.." He took a deep breath, willing himself to speak. "When the w-wood pops.. it sends s-sparks flying up. Sometimes the sparks fly up high away from the f-fire. When I was y-young.. I used to dream that the s-sparks were fireflies.. trying to escape. B-but they never made it far. They always died."

The hands on his shoulders squeezed. Matthew feared they could close around his throat, but they only began kneading. It.. felt good.

"You have sweet imagination, Matvey. Very cute."

"Thank you.." Matthew whispered. He didn't know if he was truly grateful for the compliment.. or for the fact that he wasn't being punched and kicked around the cabin.

"I tell you another story tonight," said Ivan. And he began telling Matthew about Baba Yaga, an old witch who carried a mortar and pestle with her, and lived in a hut that stood on chicken legs.

Matthew felt his eyelids drooping. They were like weights he couldn't hold up anymore. The kneading of his shoulders continued along with the Russian's soft voice. The fire was hypnotic, the man behind him was warm, and he was helpless as his shoulders slumped. He didn't know when exactly it happened, but he found himself with his face buried in the Russian's thigh. Visions of Old Man Winter and a hut on chicken legs danced through his sleepy mind.

He mumbled as he was scooped up like a child and carried to the bed. He felt his blankets being tucked around him. He felt a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Good night, Matvey." he heard the Russian say, "You are a good boy."

He managed only to crack one eye open, barely. Ivan looked beautiful, his silver hair catching the firelight and glowing from it. His violet gaze was gentle, pleased.

Matthew closed his eyes and fell deeper into slumber. He felt warm all over. He was a good boy.


	3. Chapter 3

'Become one with Russia..'

Ivan's voice whispered through the purple haze of his dreams.

'You will, Matvey. You will become one with me..'

Canada woke with a gasp, sitting up and scrambling back on the bed. The blankets fell to his waist and he panted, the last of his dream melting away. Waking reality trickled into his system like blood flowing back to a limb that had pins and needles.

Sweat beaded at his forehead, but the chill in the air dried it quickly. Matthew glanced around the cabin. No one was there. The fire from the previous evening was gone, and only softly glowing embers remained in the hearth.

The chair stood ominously beside the bed, as if someone had been sitting there throughout the night watching him sleep. His glasses rested there now. He picked them up and rubbed them clean with the sleeve of his hoodie before putting them on.

His hand went to his stomach to try and quiet the growling noises it was making. He left the bed and went to the loose plank he'd found ages ago in the floor, lifting it to peek inside. This was the place he stored his rationed food. He was disappointed to see there was nothing left.

Matthew sat back on his haunches and sighed. He supposed he'd have to wait and see if Russia would return tonight with more food. He'd come two nights in a row now. There was a very good chance he would appear again with more that night. He hoped so.

Matthew balled his fist at his chest and chewed his bottom lip. He hoped the Russian would come? How did that even make sense? Only weeks before he was on the receiving end of horrid beatings and now he was HOPING the man would come?

It was only for the food, Matthew reassured himself. His mind and body were betraying his good sense because he was starving. Ivan coming to visit him in the cabin meant food, so it was for obvious reasons that Canada wanted to see him again. It was for obvious reasons that he behaved himself now instead of fighting and jumped to obey orders.

Matthew replaced the floorboard and pushed himself to his feet. He padded across the cabin to the tiny washroom and stripped off his shirt and jeans, and undershorts. His skin tightened in the cold and gooseflesh appeared on his arms and chest. He ran the water in the sink and picked up his clothes, shoving them under the water. He scrubbed them on the bottom of the sink for as long as he could stand the cold, then had to stop, dancing back to clasp his poor freezing hands together, blowing hot breath over them to warm them up.

There was no hot water here. Why would there be? And if he thought about it, Canada supposed he was lucky he had access to water at all. Being dependant on Ivan for food was enough. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he didn't have his own water.

It took hours to wash his clothing. It was a ritual he went through at least once a week. The clothing took forever to dry and he would spend the day naked, wrapped in his blankets. He tried to time it for days he was sure Ivan would not show up at his door. He hurried today, however, because he thought perhaps he could stir up the embers in the hearth to create enough heat to dry them by the evening.

Once the clothing was thoroughly scrubbed he hung them carefully on the mantel. He returned to the washroom to clean himself, then bent to drink his stomach full of fluid. The water would keep the hunger pangs at bay.. at least for a little while.

Soon he sat by the window, swaddled in the blankets, gazing out with the same blank stare as he'd done since coming here.

His mind left his body, wandering out into a world he was no longer a part of. He wondered what the other nations were doing. He imagined they were having their meetings, same as usual. They would argue and talk over each other until Germany got angry and shouted for them to shut up before taking over and directing the remaining time.

None of them would notice he wasn't there.

It was alright to be ignored and forgotten at the world meetings. Canada didn't mind most of the time. As long as he had good relations with all nations outside of the meetings he was happy. He had the eleventh largest economy in the world, and that was nothing to sneeze at, really. No one forgot Canada when it came down to business. He made huge contributions to the worlds supply of lumber and oil. Amoung his biggest trading partners were China, Japan and England.. and of course his own brother, America.

Matthew's heart fluttered a little in his chest.

Everyone said he looked just like his brother Alfred.. twins even.. but Matthew never thought so. America stood proud and tall, blond and bright blue eyed, loud and proud. Canada was smaller, meek and quiet. His features were softer, his hair a little longer and a slightly different shade. His skin was more pale due to not seeing much of the sun for most of the year and his eyes.. they were such a dark blue they were nearly purple. America was a bit thicker than Canada was, thanks to all the hamburgers. Canada didn't eat nearly as much red meat as his brother. He was much more partial to sweet things.. like donuts.. and maple syrup.

What he wouldn't give to taste maple syrup again!

His stomach moaned.

Maple syrup on pancakes, maple cookies, maple fudge, maple donuts, maple spread out over pure snow to be enjoyed as an icy treat.. Oh, how he missed home. His brother always laughed at his sweet tooth, but Canada didn't care. He was stereotypically in love with the sap of his national tree because he knew it was the best stuff in the universe and America could just go chew on cows all day if he wanted.

Matthew's heart fluttered again. He wondered what his brother was up to. Probably watching whatever new movie had come out, sitting on his couch drinking a milkshake. Or perhaps he was playing a new game. Canada wished he was there with him..

It was no secret that Matthew often was frustrated with his brother, flustered over the way he talked over others and treated them. He was embarrassed for his brothers overly large ego.. but deep inside.. where no one could see.. he harboured a crush. Or maybe it was love. A strange, longing love.

He was tied at the waste with America no matter what happened. He needed his brother, even if America only paid attention to him when it was convenient or fun. Canada's cities huddled close to America's warmth and strength, and Matthew spent long hours in his brothers house... in his bed.

Matthew shifted in his chair at the window. His groin felt warm as his mind shifted through his memories of his times with his brother... the only bed partner he'd ever had.

'That's right.. a little slower, Mattie.. use your teeth just a bit..' The America in his memory moaned. Matthew's head bobbed between his legs a little slower. Sucking noises filled the bedroom and Matthew's cheeks were flushed with excitement and embarrassment.

His hands lightly gripped his brothers thighs and he fought to relax his throat, avoiding choking when Alfred buried his hands in his hair and thrust up. America was never quite rough with his little brother, but never gentle either. It was all about getting off quickly, with a partner he felt was there for mutual reasons. Quick, shameless pleasure. He never knew how much Matthew longed for the sex, clinging to it as if it were something other than raw and physical. He didn't know Canada's feelings and secret thoughts.

That was why Matthew let his brother fuck his mouth and spill down his throat. That was why he never complained the morning after when he was sore from a pounding that was a little too hard. That was why he was sitting there at the window now, remembering each time clearly and longing for the sex again. If he ever saw America again he would be so happy that he'd let him do whatever he wanted with his body, even if it meant he'd walk funny for a week.

Hours passed, but Matthew didn't notice. Time was immeasurable here in the cabin. All there was to do besides daydream was count the trees and flowers, over and over again. Watch for the butterflies and the bees. Hope for a bird to fly by.

The lock clicked in the door.

Matthew's body reacted before his mind did by jumping up and rushing for the back of the cabin. His blankets were left in a puddle around the chair. Ivan stepped in and closed the door behind him and it was with horror that Canada realized he was still naked. His clothes hung on the hearth.

"Matvey, I bring you foo – oh."

Canada curled into himself as tight as he could on the floor, glowing red from shame. He hid his face in his hands, worrying that the Russian would be so insulted by his nudity that he'd start another beating. Or worse.. he'd leave.

There was silence in the cabin for what seemed like forever. Then Matthew's ears pricked as he listened to the Russian's movements instead of watching them. He couldn't bear to see the look on Ivan's face.

The food tray in the Russian's hands was set down on the floor, same as the past two nights. Footsteps towards the window, then footsteps towards him. Matthew peeked open an eye and through his fingers he saw Ivan's boots.

'He's going to kick me!' he thought with dismay. But instead one of his blankets was wrapped around his shoulders.

"Stay here, Matvey. I be right back."

The Russians boots fell away, and left the cabin altogether. Canada used his chance to look. The door had been left open again.. but he certainly wasn't going to run outside to escape completely naked.

He glanced at his clothing. They still looked damp. He wondered if he had time to grab them and shove himself into them before Ivan came back. He seriously doubted it.

Ivan reappeared at the door carrying a sack over his shoulder. More logs were in his arms. Matthew pulled the blanket around his shoulders more tightly and watched as the Russian closed the door, set the sack on the bed, then built a warm fire. He turned to the sack, opened it and dug through it. He pulled out two articles of clothing. He smiled and held them out for Canada to see.

"This is tolstovka. It is warm." It was a traditional Russian-style shirt with a cloth belt to be tied around the waist. Along with it were comfortable looking pants.

Matthew weighed his options. Put his own damp clothing on to his already shivering cold body, stay there on the floor naked, or take the clothing Ivan was offering him. There was no choice, really.

He clung the blanket around himself and rose to take the clothes. The Russian was graceful enough to turn around and allow the little Canadian some privacy while he put them on. They were too big.

"Oh, Matvey.." Ivan chuckled, smiling when he turned to see Canada looking childish in the oversized tolstovka, the sleeves hanging down over his hands. "I'm sorry. It was mine when I was younger."

"N-no, it's.. it's fine.. thank you." Matthew rubbed the soft, worn fabric between his thumb and fingers. He risked a smile at Ivan. A strange idea was planted in his mind.. that this, perhaps, was not the same man who had beaten him so ruthlessly before. This man was kind and gentle. He seemed to care.

"You are welcome. Please, eat." The Russian motioned to the food on the floor and Matthew dropped to his knees, picking up the bowl to drink from it hungrily. Ivan leaned back against the wall, watching the little Canadian as he took in the food, a smile on his face.

Later, the Russian was seated on the bear skin rug before the fire. He had the Canadian between his legs again, surrounding him, holding him loosely. Matthew had been tense at first, but just as it had the night before, the fire lulled him into a more relaxed state. When Ivan eased him back to lean against his chest Matthew breathed deeply and assured himself that if he was good, he would not be hurt.

Ivan smelled so good. Like the forest. Earthy and a bit musky. Wild and untamed. Very masculine, despite his soft voice. He still wore his long jacket and scarf, even tho he sat before a fire. Matthew wondered if he ever took them off, even when he went to sleep at night.

Even through the heavy clothes he could feel hard muscles. A large hand held his, and he opened his palm, pressing it against Ivan's, comparing the size. Was he really so small? Or was it just that Ivan was so big?

Matthew's curiosity was getting the better of him. He pinched the end of Ivan's glove covered hand, pulling it off. The Russian made no move to stop him. The Canadian looked at the hand, the skin as pale as his own but marked with old scars and callouses. He traced his fingertips over each scar, morbidly fascinated by them. This hand had done cruel things. Matthew knew that. But fear did not take hold when Ivan wrapped his arm around his chest and pulled him closer, holding him there.

No one had held him like this since he was a child.

He remembered Papa France walking around his house, holding him in his arms, rocking him to sleep. Once or twice Father England had held him too, but only when little America was busy elsewhere. When he grew older and had become intimate with his brother there were times when America fell asleep holding him, snuggling him like he was a teddy bear. But often he would mumble 'Japan' in his sleep and Matthew pulled away.

This was entirely different. It was nice. It made him feel.. whole somehow.

The Russian buried his nose into Canada's hair and inhaled deeply. Matthew wondered what he was thinking. He had a brief, fleeting desire to ask Ivan why he'd trapped him here.. but then he thought better of it. He didn't want to risk breaking this spell of kindness that the Russian was showing him. He didn't want to upset Ivan in any way. At least not tonight.

Tingles of strange feelings washed over him when Ivan bent to whisper into his ear, his lips brushing against Matthew's delicate loeb.

"You tell me a story tonight, Matvey. Da?"

"Eh?" Matthew shifted slightly to blink up at his captor. Ivan's violet gaze smiled down at him. "What kind of s-story?"

"Canadian folklore," said Ivan, "Tell me a story of your land."

"Oh.. uh.." Matthew blinked, confused. Canadian folklore? Was there even such a thing? He didn't think so. There were ghost stories of course, but nothing like Ivan's tales of Old Man Winter and Baba Yaga. He wasn't old enough as a nation to have acquired such tales.

"Um.. ok.. I c-could tell you about Hansel and Gretel.."

Ivan shook his head. "Is German story."

"How about King Arthur and h-his knights?"

Ivan chuckled, squeezing Matthew. "English story, little one. I want to know Canadian story. Tell me Canadian story. Not German, not England, not America or France. Canadian."

Matthew frowned in thought, trying to think of a purely Canadian fairy tale. He could tell a story about hockey, he supposed, but Ivan had his own hockey teams and might not want to hear his bragging. Russia was his only real rival on the rink, after all.

He was about to give up and tell the Russian he was sorry, he couldn't think of anything, when he remembered his elders. Not England or France, but his native elders. He spent so much time with them as a young nation, and tho he'd never respected them the way he should have, he always loved to hear their stories. If Canada had any good stories at all, it was the stories of his elders.

"Ok.. I'll tell you about the Sky Woman."

Ivan snuggled into his neck. Matthew shivered at the feel of lips against his skin. "I'm listening," Ivan said softly, and Matthew's cheeks darkened in a flush.

"Long ago, there was no land on Earth – only water. Sky people lived in the heavens above. One day a Sky Woman accidently fell through a hole in the heavens, and cried for help as she fell. The birds of the air caught her and tried to take her back home, but she was too heavy. They brought her down to rest on the back of a great turtle.

She was sad and missed her Sky home. The animals of the sea felt terrible for her and dived deep into the water. They brought up sand from the ocean floor and gave it to the Sky Woman. She took it and spread it over the turtles back. Her tears caused the grass and trees to grow. The green life made her feel happy and at home.. and that was the beginning of our world."

When his tale was finished, Ivan was silent. Matthew felt foolish. He knew he hadn't done the story any justice. He wasn't a storyteller.. not like his elders at home. But he hoped it had been enough to make the Russian happy. He worried, however, that he would be laughed at. Ivan's face was still nestled against his neck.

"I would like to come and see your land – your turtle island." Ivan said this in all seriousness.

Matthew thought about this. When was the last time Russia had visited him at home? He couldn't remember. He wondered if it had ever happened at all.

"Canada will be part of Russia, strong and with good stories."

Matthew tensed in shock. He sat up and pulled away from Ivan. "Eh? P-part of Russia..? W-what are you... no!"

Ivan pulled him back into his chest and held him with a vice-like grip. One hand went around the little Canadian's neck. His teeth grazed Matthew's ear.

"Yes, Matvey. You and I will join together."

Matthew struggled. No! America would be so angry! So would England and France! His brother and fathers would tell him how foolish he was! A terrible thought entered Matthew's mind then. How ashamed they would be if they saw him like this, embraced by Russia! What was he doing?

He squirmed away from Ivan and made for the door. He knew it was left unlocked. NOW he would flee into the night and escape! But his hand didn't even reach the knob before his legs were kicked out from under him. He struggled to get back up and away but Ivan kicked his stomach, the blow exploding all the air from his lungs.

He coughed and doubled over in pain. A fist grabbed a great handful of his hair and pulled him straight and another fish crashed against his jaw. He tasted blood as Ivan let him go. He stumbled across the room towards the bed. Ivan followed and pushed him down, flipping him over onto his back. The Russian trapped the little Canadian against the mattress with his knee. He slapped and backhanded Matthew across the face until blood ran freely from his nose.

"I'm sorry!" Canada cried out, "Please stop, I'm sorry!"

Ivan stopped. After a moment he moved and Matthew curled up on his side, wheezing and crying, bleeding all over the bed.

"I'm sorry.. I'm s-sorry.." He whimpered his apologies over and over again. His glasses had flown off his face in the attack. He hoped they weren't broken.

Ivan turned and grabbed the sack, bowl and tray. Without a word he left the cabin, slamming the door behind him. Matthew kept whimpering, his blood and tears choking the apologies that kept coming, even long after Ivan was gone.

Days passed and the Russian did not return.


	4. Chapter 4

Days. Countless days. Canada didn't know how many.

It was like he was back to the very beginning of his confinement in the cabin. When he woke up here the first time and was alone and confused and frightened.

The door was only unlocked and food thrown in every few days. Bits of dried out bread and biscuits became his only meals again. Canada was sure even less food was thrown to him now than before.

His face was aching and sore from the wild beating he'd taken. His eyes had both almost bruised shut, and he'd stumbled around the cabin blindly for about four days before they healed enough for him to see properly again. Thank heavens his glasses hadn't been broken. He'd crawled around the cabin floor for about an hour, his hands searching for them, then cried for joy when he found them unscathed in the corner.

It could have been worse, he told himself. So much worse. He was only banged up and bruised.. nothing broken. Nothing more than the inside of his mouth and nose had bled.

He was still alive.

He tried not to think on it, but he couldn't help but wonder... if he had been seriously hurt.. the Russian would have stayed to care for him, right? If bones were broken.. too much blood spilled.. Ivan wouldn't have left.

Right?

But the Russian hadn't come back into the cabin. Nearly a month had passed and still Matthew received nothing more than thrown biscuits and bread. He hurried to the back of the cabin whenever he heard the door opening, but Ivan never came in. There was no response to his choked out 'thank yous'. The door slammed and Matthew was left behind in pure silence.

Canada doubted he would last much longer. He would die of starvation soon.. if not boredom and loneliness. Or maybe absolute hopelessness. Could you die from that?

He stayed curled up on the bed most days, too weak to get up and move around much. Too shaky and full of sorrow to sit and watch out the window. He did his best to stay clean but it was getting colder. Russia's Summer season was ending and the water in the sink was like ice. Matthew didn't know if Russia had a Fall season or if Winter would just come right away with it's snow and bitter cold.

Time passed and still, Ivan did not come in. Matthew was growing desperate. He knew had to do something. Had to get the Russian's attention somehow.. show him how sorry he was. How Canada would never misbehave like that ever again. He had to bring Ivan and his kindness and caring back.. But how?

He mulled over the problem for a long time. Long hours spent laying in his bed, with nothing more to do than think. Eventually.. he came to the solution. The only answer.

Total submission. Unquestioning obedience. Russia would settle for no less and Matthew knew it. The only way to survive this strange, terrifying situation was to do whatever it took to make Ivan happy.

A day later the lock clicked and the door opened.

Matthew was kneeling on the floor before it, bowed low. His forehead was touching the floorboards. His knees and back hurt so badly and he was barely able to hold himself up. He'd been there for a day and a half, waiting and hoping that the Russian would appear and see him there. He was shaking.

The door opened a little wider, brushing against Matthew's hair that was splayed out over the floor.

Ivan stepped in. His boots were so close to Matthew's face.

Canada felt the Russian's violet gaze resting on him. Now was the only chance he had. Now or never. Live or die here alone in a cabin in the middle of Russia, forgotten by everyone else he'd ever known. He crawled forward and put his face between the Russian's feet. His small, shaking hands grasped Ivan's boots.

"I'm so very sorry," he whispered, "Please forgive me."

Silence filled the cabin. Matthew could say no more. He was too afraid, and too weak. HIs shoulders quivered as he waited for Russia's response.

Terrible, frightening, horrible silence.

Matthew thought surely he was going to die. A tear welled in his eye and fell to the Russian's boot, dripping it's way down to the floor, leaving a clean streak in it's wake. His heart clenched with the thought that he wouldn't even have the chance to say goodbye to his polar bear.

He was suddenly scooped up into the Russian's strong arms.

Ivan carried the little Canadian to the bed. He sat down and held Matthew close in his lap. Matthew tied his arms around Ivan's neck and buried his face into the Russian's scarf. Sobs began to wrack his little frame. Relief poured over him in floods of tears.

"Don't leave me again," he cried pitifully, his hands fisting into Ivan's jacket, "Please, please.. don't leave me again.."

"Shh," Ivan whispered, rocking the Canadian back and forth, rubbing his back, "calm down, little one, I will not leave you."

Canada cried out the anguish of weeks being left alone. The terror of the Russian's temper and the pain of so little food. It was too much and Ivan let him cry as long as he needed to. Matthew tried to tell himself that perhaps Ivan felt badly for making him this way. The arms that held him now were tight and possessive and Ivan was making soft, soothing sounds. "It's ok, my Canada," he said, "It's ok. Let it out."

Later, Russia brought supplies into the cabin. A large kettle to hang in the hearth filled with warming water over a roaring fire. Towels to soak and bathe Matthew's bruised body. Fresh clothes to keep him warm once he was dry. And food. Plenty of food. More than borscht. He brought stroganov, coulibiac and knish. He didn't force Matthew to eat from the floor. He cradled the boy and brought food to his lips with a spoon, smiling with approval every time Matthew said how good it was – how delicious.

Time passed slowly, but steadily. Canada's bruises healed and disappeared. Russia returned every evening. He brought plenty of wood into the cabin so that Matthew could keep the fire going at all times on his own. He reached up high to light the lamp hanging in the rafters so that the darkness of the cabin was chased away. He brought food. He brought clothing and better bedding.

He brought companionship and a warm body for Matthew to wrap himself up in. When Ivan was with him, Matthew thought less and less of America. The little Canadian could only think of Russia and the rewards he received when the large man was pleased. Everything else was so much less important.

"Tell me again about the Russian ballet?" Matthew asked, snuggled up in Ivan's arms one evening. Snow was softly falling outside the window. Winter had come, but Matthew was warm and fed and comfortable. Ivan was nothing but kindness now, and grew kinder still whenever Matthew expressed interest in his country.

"It is beautiful," Ivan smiled, petting the blond locks out of the little Canadian's eyes. "The music reaches into your soul and the dancers are graceful like swans. Our ballet is the best in the world."

Matthew smiled. He pictured dancers dressed all in white, pirouetteing in sync to beautiful, sorrowful music. Snowflakes would fall around them softly, as if they were in a snowglobe.

"You miss home, da?"

Matthew blinked himself out of his daydream and focused on Ivan's face. He thought about the question. He wanted to say yes, he missed his home terribly, but he was afraid to make Ivan angry again. Tho there was no malice in the violet eyes gazing at him, Matthew dropped his gaze and stared at the black fur of the bearskin rug. He swallowed back a lump that had formed in his throat.

"I like it here with Russia." he said softly. He wasn't sure if he was lying, tho he knew he was saying exactly what Ivan wanted to hear. It didn't matter anyway. As long as Ivan was pleased. He chanced a look at the Russian's face and saw a happy smile.

"I have special gift for Matvey tonight."

Ivan detangled himself from the Canadian and got up. He fished around in the sack he always brought with him now, then pulled out a tiny, oddly shaped glass bottle.

Matthew stared, his eyes widening at the sight of the bottle. It looked so familiar! Was that..? No.. it couldn't be.. could it?

Ivan sat back down crossed-legged on the rug and pulled the Canadian into his lap. He nuzzled Matthew's cheek and held the bottle up for him to see what it was more clearly. Matthew stared in awe.

It was. It really was!

"M...maple.." Matthew barely whispered the word in case it wasn't true. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

It was a tiny glass bottle of maple syrup. One of those tacky ones you find in all the tourist shops, in the shape of a maple leaf in case you should ever forget what was inside it. It was the most beautiful thing Matthew had ever seen.

He stared open mouthed at the bottle in a daze, then cried out in a happy laugh and threw his arms around Ivan's neck. "I can't believe you brought me maple syrup! Thank you!"

Ivan laughed and twisted the lid from the bottle to get it open. "You are welcome, my little one. You will enjoy it, da?"

"Da!" Sang Matthew, waiting patiently for his first taste after what felt like a lifetime without. He watched happily as Ivan opened the bottle.. then became confused as the Russian poured a small amount of the sweet, sticky syrup onto his index and middle fingers. Ivan set the bottle aside and looked down at Matthew with a smile. He brought his fingers a few inches away from the Canadian's mouth.

"Here you are."

Matthew blinked, watching the thick, amber liquid dripping slowly down Ivan's fingers towards his palm. He lifted his gaze and met the Russian's eyes questioningly. Ivan was watching him closely, interested in his reaction. IHe gave him a little nudge. The smile never left his lips.

"You'd better hurry, Matvey. I do not want this to run down my wrist."

Seriously? Matthew was incredulous. The Russian seriously wanted him to..

He swallowed. There was no choice.

His cheeks burning hot and flushed, Matthew leaned forward and tentatively licked at the Russian's fingers. The humiliation was terrible. Matthew felt what little pride he had left breaking down inside him. But the flavour of the maple.. especially this being his first taste after such a long time.. was wonderous. It was good. It was so good. The best maple syrup he could remember ever having.

He lapped at the Russian's fingers, up and down, aiming to catch all of the drips. His tongue darted out, carefully lapping between the 'v' to remove all of the stickiness. He closed his eyes and took each digit into his mouth one by one, sucking the sweetness from them.

"Is good?" Ivan asked, his voice low and husky sounding. Matthew hummed out a pleasured response. It was better than anything.

Ivan picked up the bottle and poured more syrup over his fingers, and Matthew didn't hesitate at all this time to lick and suck at them. His shame was forgotten. Another feeling took it's place, especially when he felt a hardness growing beneath him in the Russian's lap. He gripped the Russian's hand and sucked both fingers together into his mouth. He shifted so that his bottom rubbed against the bulge in Ivan's pants. He was rewarded with a faint groan.

Matthew would later recount this as one of the most erotic things to have ever happened to him. His eyes were hazy and his thoughts were sluggish, his whole being concentrated on the flavour of the moment and the hot flashes of desire that were making his heart beat like mad. He felt like he would melt away, and if it were not for the hand at his back that steadied him, held him in place, he surely would have.

He watched as Ivan took the bottle and produced more syrup over his fingers. He held Matthew's gaze as he spread the liquid over his own bottom lip. Matthew swallowed hard, blushing as the Russian watched him intensely. Violet eyes were unwavering, expectant and commanding all at once.

Matthew lifted his face and kissed the Russian. He drew his tongue along Ivan's lip, drawing it lightly into his mouth to suck, washing away the syrup. The hand at his back was now behind his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair. Ivan tilted his head and ground his mouth into the little Canadian's, drawing out a squeak of surprise. Matthew opened himself to the Russian as his tongue plundered his mouth. He kissed back feverishly, winding his arms around Ivan's neck. Their kiss was broken only momentarily as Ivan shifted them, lowering Matthew to the bearskin rug. He settled between the little Canadian's legs, hovering over him. A hand pillowed Matthew's head and the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt.

Matthew wrapped his legs around Ivan's hips, longing for friction. Ivan obliged him and ground his hips down against him, rocking him down into the floor. Matthew moaned into the Russian's mouth and arched his back when the larger man found a pert little nipple and pinched lightly.

"Ah-!"

His breath hitched, and the Russian pushed his shirt up, allowing access to the Canadian's chest. Fingers were replaced with lips and teeth that nibbled lightly and Matthew responded by pushing at Ivan's jacket, wanting him to take it off. His fingers began to unravel the Russian's scarf.

Without warning Ivan pulled away, breaking the fevered spell. He adjusted his scarf and jacket back into place.

Matthew, left sprawled on the floor, blinked up at him, confused. The sudden rejection hurt and shame quickly took it's rightful place back in the middle of his heart. Had he done something wrong?

The Russian held out his hand and when Matthew took it he was pulled up to stand. Ivan tilted the Canadian's disappointed face up and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Not yet, Matvey. When we are ready. Da?" He said, and Matthew started to shake his head in protest. He was quite sure Russia was ready NOW, judging by the way the front of his pants jutted out towards him. He was quieted by a finger against his lips. It was still a little sticky from the syrup. Matthew licked it and drew it into his mouth, his eyes catching the Russian's and holding them. There was a flush to Ivan's cheeks, and an unreadable expression in his eyes.

Ivan freed his finger from Matthew's mouth and bent to kiss his forehead.

"Goodnight, my little Canada." He smiled, then moved to the door. Matthew's arms wrapped around himself as he watched the Russian leave. He listened as the lock clicked, trapping him inside the cabin and he was alone once more. Footsteps faded away and Matthew went to throw himself on the bed.

The silence and the solitude quickly cooled his desire. The shame that had returned grew greater and his chest hurt. He was embarrassed and felt so very foolish. Russia must think he was whorish, the way he'd spread his legs and practically begged for it. Canada buried his face in his hands. He WAS whorish, wasn't he? It had been the same with his brother. Always chasing Alfred for any attention he could get. America never denied him, tho Matthew always felt worse afterwards.

HIs eyes filled with tears. He understood his situation even less now than he did before. He felt so lost and confused. What was going to happen to him?

What did Ivan want with him?


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning Matthew was sitting on his haunches at the fire that had died down overnight, poking it with a stick to encourage it to keep burning. He added another couple logs from the pile Ivan had left him. Satisfied as the flames grew higher, Canada rocked back to his feet and went to find food.

There were leftovers from the meal the Russian had brought last night. They were carefully wrapped in tinfoil and stored on a small table that Ivan had brought for him. He was thankful he no longer had to eat off the floor. He sat down in his chair and unwrapped a leftover piece of knish. He took a bite and chewed slowly, then made a face. Bleh. This had tasted better last night when it was fresh. Now it was just.. bleh.

From the corner of his eye he spied the maple leaf shaped bottle, still sitting on the floor.

MAPLE!

He grabbed the syrup and poured a generous amount over the knish. He took another bite and grinned. Mmmm, that was much better. Maple syrup fixed everything.

As he ate he thought about Russia. Almost all his thoughts were about Ivan now. He tried to think back to before he was kidnapped and what he knew about Russia then. Other than being sat on once by the man because he was invisible, Canada only knew Russia through the history books. And through stories told by his brother and fathers of course.

He remembered that he felt unsure about the Russian's temperament. England said Russia was completely mental. France told stories of the horrible things Russia had done, and the only time America went silent was when the cold war was mentioned. His shoulders would shake with anger and he would growl 'commie bastard' before stalking away.

Canada had been there in the cold war, and remembered seeing Russia once or twice. The man was terrifying, it was true.. but that was during a time of war. Canada wasn't there to fight him - he was peacekeeping - so there was never a confrontation. Never any direct contact.

In modern days, at the world meetings, Ivan argued and discussed politics and world issues the same as any other nation. He seemed polite and spoke softly, and always with the same cheerful smile on his face. Canada remembered enjoying the sound of the Russian's voice, and admired him for his bravery when the Pictorian's invaded the Earth. It was thanks to Russia and the others that they were all saved.. and his beloved CN Tower had gone back to it's natural state rather than being blank white.

Most recently America had been putting pressure on other super powers - especially ones that had as much power as he did - to disarm themselves. He declared that was HE was THE world leader and got to decide who had the nukes and who didn't. Russia and China, of course, didn't agree. Russia became so angry that he stopped attending world meetings. China still went and tried to argue his side, but it all gave Canada such a headache.

He knew he was a young nation.. too young to fully understand the old grudge matches and hatred. But to him the answer was so simple and in plain view. If he had a stronger voice, and a little more self confidence.. he would make them all see.

No weapons. None. No nukes. No one should have something so terrible to threaten anyone else with. The arms race should stop altogether. If nations stopped putting all their money into weapons.. there would be enough to go around for everyone. No one would be hungry, no one would be angry, and there would be peace.

Arthur would tell him he was childish for such thoughts. France would agree with England, (oddly enough.) He said there should be more love in the world, but even his past was checkered with violence and revolution. And America.. well..

Canada finished up his maple knish and went to wash up in the little sink.

He didn't want to think about America.

Before he was kidnapped, Canada remembered thinking Russia had calmed down alot since the days of the cold war. Matthew thought Ivan looked rather lonely.

Matthew made the bed, then looked for something clean to put on. Ivan had brought him more clothing, including western-style attire.. but he choose the tolstovka shirt Ivan had given him first. The one he said belonged to him when he was younger. Matthew slipped it over his head and poked his arms through the sleeves. It smelled like Ivan. Canada sighed as he tied the belt around his narrow waist.

He pulled on a pair of pants and some socks, then took his usual place at the window. He'd been avoiding it, but thoughts of what happened the night before began to trickle into his mind. A blush creeped over his cheeks. He felt as if he'd done something wrong, kissing at Ivan the way he had. Trying to unclothe him. Wanting to see the man beneath the thick jacket and loosely tied scarf. Ivan had pulled away so coldly. Perhaps he thought Matthew was dirty.. or unworthy.

But.. hadn't Ivan been the one to instigate everything? With the maple syrup.. the sucking.. the sticky kisses..

Matthew shook his head of the confusion. He didn't want to think anymore. He had hours to wait until the usual time Ivan would be at his door. He would try to gauge the larger mans emotions then. Maybe he would even work up the nerve to ask him what all of this meant.

Snow was falling again. Had it ever stopped? His seat by the window was chilly despite the fire in the hearth. Matthew pulled a blanket around himself to stay warm.

The locked clicked in the door. Matthew felt the same thrill of excitement he always did when Ivan arrived, but it was too early! Ivan usually came in the evenings.

Canada turned and watched as the Russian opened the door and stepped in. He set his bulging sack down on the table and began brushing the snow from his arms and hat.

"Good morning, Matvey!" He called, sounding cheerful. Matthew stayed where he was in his seat. He wasn't sure what to say. 'I'm happy you're here even tho I feel like a slut after what I did last night?' He looked away, embarrassed.

"Are you not glad to see me, Matvey?" Ivan asked, closing the door against the cold behind him. "Don't make me come too far into the cabin to get you. I'll track snow everywhere."

He wasn't taking his boots off to stay? Matthew frowned a bit as he stood and went to the Russian. He was immediately scooped up into a bear hug, and a light kiss was placed on his lips. He couldn't help but smile and hugged the Russian back. He was indeed very glad Ivan was there. But his socked feet were freezing!

Matthew danced away from the icy puddles Ivan's snow covered boots were making in the doorway.

"Sorry," Ivan chuckled, then motioned to the sack on the table. "Put those on quickly, da? Everything should fit. And you wore my tolstovka! That makes me happy."

Matthew opened the sack and felt around inside, pulling out the articles of clothing Ivan had brought for him. There was a thick, fur-lined white winter jacket with a large hood. A black Russian styled fur hat with ear flaps. A black pair of furry mitts, and a pair of black boots.

"You're taking me outside today?" Matthew's heart began to beat with excitement. He would get to go outside! He hurried to find a pair another pair of socks - the ones he had on now were wet - then began to pull the winter clothing on.

"Yes," Russia smiled. "We're going on a trip."

A trip! Matthew was so happy at the thought! Ivan could take him anywhere as long as it was outside. Fresh air and sunshine, and snow! He couldn't wait to crunch around in it in his boots. See it draped over the trees. Feel it burn the end of this nose with cold and sting at his cheeks.

Everything fit perfectly. Matthew could barely contain himself as Ivan opened the door to the freedom of outside. Canada rushed out for his first taste of fresh air.. then cried out in pain and covered his eyes. Bright! It was too bright! The sun shining above and the pure white of the snow around him caused his retina to throb in his head. After so long locked away in the cabin his eyes had become accustomed to the low light.

Ivan placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I thought this might happen, so I brought these as well."

Matthew peeked through his mitts to see the Russian pull a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. The type that would snap into place over the glasses that he already wore. He took them, put them in place and carefully blinked his eyes open. It still hurt a bit, but it was much, much better.

"Thank you.. Ivan." He said, and Ivan bent to kiss him. "You are welcome. Let's go."

The Russian motioned to a snow machine sitting a ways off. Matthew smiled when he saw it. So that was how Ivan was traveling to see him every day.

"I love ski-dooing!" He laughed, running to climb onto the snowmobile. He inspected the driving mechanisms, delighted to see that it wasn't much different from the ones he always rode back home. There was no key tho.. pout.

"What is 'ski-doo'?" Ivan asked, climbing onto the snowmachine behind Matthew. He produced the key from a pocket and Matthew's pout deepened when his hands were shooed away from the handlebars, his foot scooted off the gas pedal. He would be a passenger. Ivan was big enough to drive the machine with Matthew sitting in front of him like a child.

"A ski-doo is.. is this." Matthew motioned to the snowmobile they were sitting on. "We have these in Canada. We drive them all the time, even in Summer on the lake!"

Ivan frowned, giving Matthew a strange look. "On lake in Summer. When there is no ice?"

"Yeah, it's fun! Well.. it's fun unless you sink.. then it's kind of a pain to fish the ski-do back out of the water again."

Ivan shook his head in disbelief, smiled, then started the snow machine. It's engine roared to life and Matthew forgot his disappointment over just being a passenger and let excitement rule his mind. He wondered where they were going!

Ivan drove them into the forest and down a trail, the little log cabin falling far behind them.

The scenery that unfolded before them was something to behold. Mighty forests of evergreens spreading over valleys with iced lakes nestled at their basins. Surrounding all were huge mountain ranges, their snowy peaks covered in fluffy white clouds. Ivan drove them through rocky passes and Matthew waved to herds of reindeer he saw in the distance. He saw strange looking goats with long horns climbing the rocks as they roared by on the snow machine. They reminded him of his big horned sheep back home.

There were wolves and foxes running about the forest and Matthew thought, for a brief moment, that he even caught a glimpse of a white tiger behind a group of trees.

Except for the tiger, this all reminded Matthew very much of his own land.

A frozen wind was blasting them steadily in their faces. Matthew pulled his hood more tightly around his cheeks. He began to shiver. It was an awful lot colder here in Russia than it was back home. Canada's temperatures were way too cold for anyone's comfort, but Matthew had to admit the Russian had him beat in this department. He snuggled back against the Russian, seeking body heat. He thought he heard Ivan chuckling over the roar of the engine.

Ivan drove until the trees of the forest began to thin and the land became tundra. Matthew recognized that they were almost as far north as you could be in Russia, close to the ocean. Ivan slowed the snow machine and parked it, it's engine sputtering until it quieted. An icy wind howling was the only sound left.

Matthew suddenly felt himself growing nervous. A small fear grew inside him that the Russian would kick him off the ski-doo, turn around leave him out there to freeze and die.

Ivan dismounted and held out his mitted hand for Matthew to take. His scarf was pulled up high over his nose, and his hat down low over his forehead. Matthew could only see his eyes. He thought they looked gentle and happy, but it was hard to tell.

"Come, Matvey. I want you to see this."

Matthew took his hand and climbed off the machine. They walked, mitted hand in mitted hand, for about an hour, always north, towards the ocean. Matthew wondered why, but was grateful for the chance to move. Walking kept his blood flowing.. helped him to stay warm.

Then.. in the distance.. he saw movement.

It was hard to tell what it was at first. He carefully lifted the sunglasses up, squinting his eyes against the brightness of the day and snow, trying to see what it was that was up ahead of them. Whatever it was it was big, lumbering and rolling around in the snow.

It was..

"Polar bear!" Matthew gave a happy shout and started to run. He felt Ivan try to grab at his jacket, but he was too fast.

"Matvey, wait! No!"

Let Ivan beat him for this later. Matthew didn't care. He opened his strides further and ran as fast as he could towards the giant furry white bear in the distance. He was faster than the Russian, lighter on his feet. When he was closer to the bear he slowed and began to approach carefully. The bear stopped rolling around and looked up at him. He heard Ivan's crunching boots in the snow stop behind him, no longer following him, staying at a safe distance. He heard the Russian's voice sounding very nervous.

"Matvey, come away from there. You will get hurt."

'No I wont,' thought Matthew. He ignored Ivan and stepped closer to the polar bear. Close enough to see the gold in the bears otherwise black eyes. He held out his mitted hand. The bear stretched it's neck to sniff.

Ivan swore in Russian, sounding panicked. "I do not have gun with me!"

Matthew giggled as the polar bear sniffed it's way along his arm and then at his chest. He sniffed at the little Canadian's face and into his neck, trying to get a better scent of what was inside all the warm clothes. Then, confused, the bear sat back on it's bottom and regarded Matthew curiously.

"Who are you?" It spoke. Matthew thought he heard Ivan gasp.

"I'm Canada." He smiled. Then the bears face lit up in recognition. He snorted, a happy sound for a bear.

"Oh yes! I know Canada. I've been there before, many times. It is a long swim."

Matthew laughed and tackled the bear, arms stretching to give the great creature a hug. The bear fell back, pulling the little Canadian onto it's belly. Matthew buried his face into the coarse white fur and breathed in the familiar smell of home.

He played with the bear, wrestling around with it, laughing with it, talking to it, telling stories about the ice and snow. He climbed onto the bears back and rode it while the bear made it's way to the ocean. Ivan followed along behind, keeping a safe distance, looking dumbfounded.

"I must go. Hungry." said the bear, and Matthew slid down from it's back. He gave the bears thickly furred neck one last hug before saying goodbye. The bear then ran towards the ocean and dove in, disappearing beneath the ice.

Matthew watched the ocean, a little sad, but still a happy feeling nestled in his heart. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Ivan. He forgot that the Russian might be angry with him and threw his arms around Ivan's neck. He kissed the Russian's lips.

"Thank you so much. Today was so wonderful."

Ivan just gazed down at the little Canadian, his eyebrow raised. Matthew braced himself if the Russian was going to be angry with him.. but he only shook his head and laughed.

"You are special, my little Canada," he said, and Matthew smiled. He hugged Ivan, rubbing his cold face into the larger mans chest. Ivan responded by tucking his hat and jacket back into place, tsking at him about catching frostbite.

By the time they walked back to the snow machine it was dark. The day was over. The stars above were shining brilliantly down at them. Matthew worried about finding their way back in the night, but Ivan assured him that he knew the way. "What about tigers," Matthew questioned, his eyes filled up with fear. Ivan chuckled and picked the little Canadian up, plopping him down onto the snow machine and climbing on behind him. "You play with polar bear and worry about tiger? You are strange, little one."

Matthew wiggled himself comfortably against the Russian as Ivan put the key into the ignition and woke the snow machine from it's cold sleep. It whined in protest, then roared to life. "Bears love Canada."

Ivan began their long journey back to the log cabin. The Aurora began to flash and wave in ribbons, dancing above them in the sky. Matthew watched it until it made him sleepy. His eyes drifted shut and he slept for the rest of the trip, safe and sheltered from the cold by the Russian's body surrounding him.

Through his dreams he thought he heard Ivan speak softly.

"Bears love Canada... do they?"


	6. Chapter 6

Ivan returned the next morning with a pair of ice skates in Canada's size. Matthew thought he'd die of happiness. He kissed the Russian so thoroughly he was lightheaded and out of breath. Ivan's arms held him, a hand falling to cup the little Canadian's behind. Matthew felt the Russian's hardness again, against his belly.

This time he was the one to break the contact, giving Ivan a shy smile, and turned to pull his winter clothes on. With the skates dangling over his shoulder, he followed Ivan outside and to the snow machine. He saw a larger pair of skates and two hockey sticks strapped to the back. His heart skipped a beat.

He took his place in front of Ivan and wiggled impatiently as the larger man started the machine. Unable to help himself, he began to talk about his hockey teams back home. He talked about his favourite players, about The Great One, and his many triumphs at the Olympics. He talked about the Loonie, Canada's one dollar coin, that had been hidden beneath the ice in Salt Lake City. "That wasn't why we won, but still! BOTH the mens and womens teams almost always win. No one can beat Canada at hockey!"

"Is that so?" Russia smiled, driving on.

Canada would be ashamed if he realized how much he was acting like his brother throughout the entire trip. He boasted on and on, and Ivan allowed it with a patient smile. At least until they arrived at their destination. A little frozen pond about half an hour away from the log cabin.

Ivan stilled the engine and dismounted, then untied his skates from the back. He leaned against the snow machine to pull his boots off and replace them with the skates. Matthew flopped down on the snow to do the same. Ivan gave him a strange look.

"What? It's easier."

Ivan untied the two hockey sticks and held out his hand to help Matthew to his feet, but the little Canadian shook his head.

"Nah, I got this," he said, jumping up, taking his stick, and walking towards the pond as easily as if he were wearing shoes.

Once he hit the ice it was like flying.

One could say that his balance was far better on a pair of skates than on his own two feet. He raced around the pond in circles, forwards and backwards, never missing a step, never slipping. He was different on the ice. Taller thanks to the skates, but stronger somehow. Braver. It was his element, his power. He would turn his skates sideways, screeching to a halt and spraying shards of ice before taking off around the pond again.

Suddenly a puck was tossed onto the ice and Matthew went for it like a cat on a mouse. His hockey stick flicking the puck back and forth, he never lost a bit of speed, rushing around the ice like he was in a game he was winning.

"He shoots.." He pulled his stick back as far as he could, then slapshot the puck high into the air where it smacked against a nearby tree, bouncing off into the snow. "HE SCORES! WOOO!"

He raised his stick in triumph, skating around like he was carrying the Stanley Cup itself. It was only then he noticed the Russian still leaning against the snow machine, watching him with his chin resting atop his own hockey stick. He looked very amused.

"Oh.. er.." Matthew felt a bit embarrassed and went to retrieve the puck from the snow. "I'm sorry. I guess you want to play too, eh?"

"Da." Ivan said, stepping onto the ice. He did not rush around in a frenzy like Matthew had.. only calmly skating around the pond a few times as if to warm up. Matthew watched him, stepping back onto the ice himself. The Russian looked predatory as he skated. Dangerous.

Matthew dropped the puck and skated to the middle of the pond. Let the games begin.

He flicked the puck back and forth, eyeing the Russian as the larger man squared off and came towards him. Matthew easily ducked away, slapping the puck ahead and skating after it. It was silently decided that the right side of the pond was Ivan's home net, and the left belonged to Canada. Matthew skated for the right, his expert stick handling preparing the puck for another slapshot, but Ivan came from nowhere and stole the puck away. He shot off for the left and Matthew rushed to catch him.

The morning slid it's lazy way into the afternoon.

The score was Russia: 3 - Canada: 5.

When the puck was shot off the ice into a pile of snow it signalled the end of the game for Ivan.

"Canada wins again!" Matthew cheered, skating circles around the pond, waving his stick around.

Ivan chuckled and made his way to the snow machine. He unlaced his skates and pulled them off, replacing them with his boots. Matthew pouted and stepped off the ice to join him. "Aww, you don't want to play anymore?"

"It is becoming late, Matvey and you are cold. Time to take you home, da?"

He straightened the little Canadian's hat on his head, then beeped his nose with a smile. Matthew frowned, but he had to agree. He was getting quite cold. And.. he wanted to go home.

Home..

He sat on the snow again to put his boots back on. He felt a great longing for home rising in his chest. After a good hockey game it was tradition to go out for a beer. There would be no beer waiting for Matthew back at the cabin. The cabin wasn't.. home.

Ivan strapped the skates and sticks to the snow machine. The larger man must have sensed the change in the little Canadian's mood. He tilted Matthew's chin up and kissed him softly.

"Good game, Matvey. We play again soon, da?

"Da."

Matthew climbed onto the snow machine and hugged himself sadly. Ivan climbed on behind him.. and dangled the key in front of the little Canadian's face. Matthew blinked his eyes in surprise. He turned to look at Ivan. The Russian smiled and nodded.

"Really?"

With renewed happiness brightening his features again, Matthew shoved the key into the ignition and turned the engine over. The snow machine roared into life and Matthew let it warm up for a few minutes. Ivan's arms wrapped around his middle. Matthew's longing for home was forgotten, and in that moment he felt like he belonged there. He belonged with Ivan. Beer or no beer.

He took off on the snow machine and laughed as he drove wildly, plunging through snowbanks, kicking up a trail behind him. He drove dangerously, coming too close to trees and almost flipping the machine, but Ivan said nothing and only hung on tightly. When they went over a hill and caught some air Canada let go of the handlebars and shouted for joy. He barely got control back when they landed and he did not slow down all the way back to the cabin. His cries of excitement echoed through the mountains.

"Well?" Matthew said, turning the engine off after finally pulling up to the cabin, "What do you think? I can drive real good, eh?"

Ivan dismounted the snow machine and rolled his shoulders, loosening the crick in his neck that came from having to hang on so hard. Matthew bounced off after him, pleased with himself.

"I think much more of your driving and I would need new snow machine."

Matthew laughed, and rubbed the back of his head. It was true that his own ski-doos at home never lasted long. He had to buy a new one every Winter. They just didn't make them strong enough, he guessed. It didn't help when he kept accidently sinking them in the lake in Summer..

In the cabin they ate together. They were both hungry after a long day of skating and hockey. They built up the fire and had marshmallows and hot chocolate for dessert – another treat that caused Matthew to squeak with joy.

When they were full they settled together on the bearskin rug. Ivan spread languidly over on the floor with his arms behind his head and Matthew nestled against him, head resting on the larger mans chest.

His fingers toyed with the Russian's scarf.

"Why don't you ever take this off?" He asked, forgetting that it might not be safe to ask such a question. His belly was too full, and he was too relaxed and happy to worry.

"Is special to me," Ivan answered simply.

"What about this?" Small fingers tugged at the Russian's jacket.

"I suppose this could come off." Ivan said, and Matthew sat up, allowing the Russian room to remove his jacket. It was draped over the foot of the bed, and Ivan returned to his reclined position on the floor. Matthew admired what the jacket had been hiding. Ivan was dressed in a loose knit sweater, but it did not hide his broad shoulders and thick arms. The little Canadian couldn't help but find himself attracted. The Russian was ruggedly handsome. Matthew snuggled back up to him. "Isn't that more comfortable?"

The Russian made a sort of short laughing sound in his throat. "I do not get comfortable."

"Why not?"

"You ask too many questions, little one."

"I'm sorry."

Matthew pouted. Ivan lifted his hand and started to twirl locks of the little Canadian's blond hair between his fingers. Matthew met the Russian's violet eyes and they gazed at each other silently. Matthew wondered again about what was going on inside Ivan's mind. He never had to ask his brother questions. America never shut up and eventually told him everything and anything he could ever think to ask about. There was never a question about what was going through the American's head. Alfred never let Matthew get a word in edgewise.

Alfred again. Why did his thoughts always turn to his stupid brother? He dropped his gaze in a huff, burying his face in Ivan's chest.

"Do you love your brother, Matvey?"

Matthew looked back up at the Russian, started. Had Ivan been able to read his thoughts ?

"Um.. well.." The Canadian stammered, feeling embarrassed. He squirmed to sit up, but Ivan's arms wrapped around him, holding him in place. His expression was one of patience, waiting for an answer.

"Not.. really.. well.. yes. I guess I do."

Matthew's cheeks warmed. He'd never told anyone this before. Not even Papa France.

"Does he touch you?" Ivan asked, and Matthew swallowed, wishing he could run away and hide. Now who was asking too many questions?

'Yes.." was his whispered reply.

"Do you like for him to touch you?"

"...yes..."

"Why?"

Matthew's mouth snapped shut. He thought his face would catch fire from all the heat of shame. And he was angry. Ivan didn't have any right to ask him these things. What was more, it wasn't right that he felt forced to tell the truth.

"No one else ever.. wanted to touch me."

He remembered his childhood. Father England and Papa France both raising such a fuss and praising little America's every accomplishment. England spending long hours teaching little America about reading and writing and how to be a good country. Papa France so proud when America broke away from England to be independant.

England didn't even say anything when Canada opted to remain a colony. When he beat America back and set fire to his precious White House. It was one of the things Matthew was so secretly proud of. He went to war with America and HE WON. But no one praised him or congratulated him. It was worse that America, in his self important mind, turned the tables on the war of 1812 and told everyone that no, it was America who'd been the victor, not Canada.

But as many reasons as Matthew had for being angry with Alfred.. he couldn't help but cling to his brothers side. America paid attention to him. America touched him, sometimes lovingly. America saw him and made him feel important.. sometimes.

"To everyone else.. I'm invisible. No one even remembers my birthday.. or if they do... it's just a reminder that it's three more days till Alfred's Fourth of July. No one ever wants to pay attention to me... or get to know me. Except for Cuba, maybe.."

Ivan smirked.

"Cuba is a little bit of a pervert tho. But Alfred.. he's always been there for me. Even after our fights. He protects me, looks out for me.."

"Controls you."

"Yes, well.. wait, no! I make my own decisions." Matthew frowned.

"You think you do, Matvey. But the truth is whatever America decides to do, you will always be pulled along with him. Because he says so."

Matthew tried again to pull away and sit up and this time Ivan let him. He felt tears pickling at the sides of his eyes. He clenched his teeth. He lowered his face so that Ivan could not see him through his hair. His fists balled in his lap. He hated himself for always being so weak.

Ivan sat up and put his arm around the little Canadian. He lifted the boys chin with a finger so Matthew could not hide his face. Tears welled and ran down the blond's cheeks. Still, he would not meet the Russian's gaze.

"You value yourself too little, Matvey. You are a caring and gentle nation, full of things that make you unique and very special. You deserve to be happy."

But.. Matthew WAS happy. Wasn't he? He was ok with America and the way things were. It was alright that he was ignored by the rest of the world, and even by his brother whenever Japan came to call. He had his own things to do, and he had his polar bear to look after. He didn't need anything or anyone else. Did he?

"America protects me.." Matthew whispered, putting up this one last effort to defend his brother. He had begun shaking. Ivan pulled him close and kissed him softly. He brushed the blond hair out of little Canada's eyes and kissed him again.

"I could protect you."

Matthew started to shake his head, then immediately stopped, fearing Ivan's wrath should he become angry. The Russian drew Matthew's mouth into a deep kiss that put to rest any worries over tempers. A heat began to grow in Matthew's belly.

Ivan deepened the kiss further, drawing the Canadian's tongue into his own mouth and circling it. Matthew moaned as Ivan's hand came to rest between his legs and gave a gentle squeeze.

He cried out in frustration when the Russian pulled away and stood up again, but Ivan reached down to drag the little Canadian up after him. The Russian untied the cloth belt to Matthew's tolstovka, then lifted it off his frame. Before Matthew knew what was happening, his pants were around his ankles. He was naked before the Russian.. for the second time.

He squeaked and covered himself, but Ivan took his hands, placing them at his sides. The Russian stepped back and Matthew blushed fiercely, feeling violet eyes roaming freely over his body.

"Does your brother tell you how beautiful you are, Matvey?"

The little Canadian slowly shook his head, his eyes closed.

"Does he take care to give you as much as you give to him?"

Again, Matthew shook his head. He began to tremble.

"Please stop asking me these things." He whispered. Ivan held out his arms and Matthew went into them, burying his face to hide his tears. Ivan stroked his back slowly, in circles that gradually went lower. Matthew's breath hitched when the Russian's hands held his bottom and pulled him up against the hardness that was between his legs.

Ivan bent to pick the little Canadian up, carrying him to the bed. He laid Matthew down gently, then searched through the pockets of his jacket. He brought out a little bottle and set it on the bed beside them before laying down beside Matthew.

Matthew glanced at the bottle, then back at up at the Russian. He felt a rush of anticipation, but also of nerves. Ivan kissed him, pressing him back into the bed. Matthew tugged at Ivan's shirt, but Ivan caught his hand and raised it above his head, pinning it down. The little Canadian frowned at the unfairness of it – he was completely naked after all. Why wouldn't Ivan let him see what was under his clothes?

"Mmm.."

A large hand covered the member between his legs and stroked it gently. He pushed his hips upwards, rocking to encourage more. Ivan's thumb swirled the head once, twice, but then he let go and Matthew blew out a frustrated sigh.

"Patience, little one." Chuckled Ivan, reaching over the Canadian for the bottle. Single handedly he uncapped the lid and squeezed some of it onto his fingers. He gazed down at Matthew.

"Spread your legs for me."

Matthew closed his eyes and turned his face away, but he did as the Russian asked. His thighs came apart slowly. He jumped when he felt Ivan's hand go between. Wet, slick fingers met their mark and Matthew arched his back at the intrusion. Ivan worked two fingers into him at once, carefully, pushing in as far as he could, then pulling out all the way.. only to push back inside again, searching.

Matthew's eyes went wide when Ivan's fingers brushed against something deep inside. Sparks of pleasure caused his body to quake and squirm. Ivan held him still and buried his fingers more deeply, stroking that sweet spot until it made the little blond moan loudly.

"I-Ivan!" Matthew gasped, feeling himself coming closer to the edge. He was in danger of going over, even without any more touch to his member. His brother had never made him feel so good. But Ivan wasn't finished with him yet.

The Russian withdrew his fingers, and released Matthew. He shifted to kneel between the Canadians' legs. His hands went to his belt to unfasten it. Matthew watched in awe as the Russian freed himself from the confines of his pants.

Nervousness prickled up his spine. Ivan was big. Matthew was sore for days when his brother was through with him. What would it feel like when Ivan was done?

Ivan took the little bottle and spread more of the slippery wetness in his hand, then palmed himself to coat the entire length. He noticed the worried look on the little Canadian's face. He covered Matthew's body with his own and smiled when the Canadian spread his legs wide, allowing him access, despite his fear.

"You are a good boy, Matvey," Ivan said softly, searching for the right spot with the tip. When he found it he waited at the entrance. "It will not hurt you if you trust me."

"I.." Matthew whimpered as Ivan pushed against him, just a tiny bit, enough for the Canadian to feel the size of it. He wiggled his bottom, desire causing him to want Russia to penetrate him, now, all the way.

"Will you trust me, Matvey?" Another light push. The head was inside, but then Ivan allowed himself to slip out. Matthew thought he would lose his mind. "Will you become one with me?"

"Yes!" cried Matthew, "Just.. please-!"

Ivan thrust into him, all the way to the hilt, and Matthew screamed his name. The Russian pulled Matthew's hips up and pushed his legs apart, jackknifing the boy. He rocked his hips, thrusting and grinding against a Canada who writhed beneath him. Matthew tilted his hips and arched his back so that Ivan's thrusts were at an angle, causing friction to pass over that sweet spot again and again.

He grabbed wildly for the Russian's hair, pulling him down into a smouldering kiss, tongues twisting around. His legs locked around Ivan's hips, pulling him closer, pushing him deeper inside.

He felt Russia's heart beating erratically. He knew Ivan was close as the larger man's hips began jerking more quickly, the thrusts becoming sporadic. Sweat was beading on Ivan's forehead and his breath became ragged and tense. Matthew felt a bright hotness building up from deep inside his core. His hands went to claws, digging into the Russian's back as his orgasm crashed over him, his vision blurring. In the same moment Russia grunted low and close to Matthew's ear, pistoning his hips into the little Canadian once, twice, then Matthew felt a warmth spilling into his insides.

Ivan collapsed onto Matthew, breathing hard. The little Canadian shivered as the last little bit of pleasure washed through him. He un-clawed his fingers from the Russian's back and brushed back the silvery wisps of hair from his brow.

Ivan rolled to the side and adjusted his pants back into place, then wrapped the little Canadian in a possessive embrace. Matthew cuddled into him, nuzzling his face into the Russian's neck to hide. It was done. Canada belonged to Russia. Matthew thought horrible guilt would tear into his heart for what he knew his family would see as betrayal.. but no such feeling came. Instead.. he only felt warm.

He kissed Ivan's cheek, his hand on the larger man's heart, feeling the beating grow slower and more even. After a time he realized that the Russian had fallen asleep.

Matthew settled down for sleep as well, his head pillowed comfortably on Ivan's shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

When Matthew woke the next morning he was alone in the bed. But he was not alone in the cabin.

He sat up to find the Russian packing up his clothing, shoving it into the sack. S clean set of clothing was left for the Canadian to wear, folded on the chair.

"Good.. morning?" Matthew rubbed his eyes, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was surprised the Russian was still there with him. Ivan had never spent the evening before, always disappearing after Matthew had fallen asleep.

He winced at how cold the floor was. The fire had burned out completely, allowing Winter's chilly fingers to sneak inside.

"Ah, good morning my little Mattvey." Ivan smiled, pausing in his packing long enough to place a kiss on the top of Matthew's head. "We are leaving this place today, da?"

"Leaving?"

"Yes. Do what you need to get ready. I want to be back in Moscow by early afternoon."

"Um.. ok."

This was a little.. sudden. Matthew padded to the washroom to clean up. He could scarcely believe what he just heard. Leaving and going to Moscow? Ivan was taking him away from the cabin?

Matthew scrubbed at himself with the icy water, shivering. He wasn't sure what to think. He thought he might feel excited but.. he also felt very unsure. What was going to happen now? He wondered if he'd earned his freedom by agreeing to become part of Russia. Did this mean he was going back to Canada? He felt a little spark of hope in his chest, but it was soon replaced with uneasiness. Would Ivan come with him, or make him go back alone? The Russian promised he wouldn't leave him alone again..

He toweled himself dry and went to pull on the clothes Ivan had left for him. Next was his winter gear. He barely pulled his second boot into place before Ivan was herding him out the door. Matthew thought that maybe he should have one last look around the cabin but there wasn't time. He climbed onto the snow machine, then Ivan climbed on behind him and started the engine. They were flying off down another trail, but Matthew couldn't tell in which direction. He hoped he'd had a chance to look at a map once they got to Moscow. He hated to feel so lost and unsure of where he'd spent the last.. how many months? How long had he been in the cabin?

They followed the trail for well over an hour. 'Did he really come all this way to see me every night?' Matthew wondered, chancing a quick glance up at his.. lover? Was Ivan his lover now? Did he love Ivan?

So many questions rolling through his mind. And no answers for any of them. All he knew was that now he was one with Russia and he was on his way to the capital city.

Ivan noticed his gaze and smiled down at him. Matthew said nothing of his thoughts and watched as the scenery flew by.

They finally came to a stop at a narrow, snow-lined country road. There was a large car parked half hidden beneath the boughs of a huge evergreen tree. Matthew had never seen a car like it before. It reminded him of the cars from the 1950's, but it didn't look old. Ivan left the Canadian standing by the car and went to park the snow machine in another hidden spot beneath the trees. Then he unlocked the car door, tossed the sack into the back seat and ushered the Canadian into the front. He crossed in front of the car, climbed into the drivers seat and turned the engine over. He pulled out onto the road, and headed in the direction where Matthew assumed Moscow was.

Matthew wondered what all the hurry was about. Perhaps Ivan just wanted to get home to Moscow to see his boss and tell them about his new union with Canada. It must be exciting for Ivan. He was always saying everyone would eventually become one with Russia. Now someone finally had.

Or.. maybe he just wanted a hot meal.. or a hot shower.

Matthew began to daydream about the hottest, most wonderful bubble bath he was going to take as soon as he was in Ivan's house. It would be so frothy with suds, and so hot his entire body would turn red. But that was rather selfish of him, wasn't it? He should be thinking about how he was going to break the news of joining with Russia to his boss, not about lounging in a hot tub. How would his Prime Minister take the news? What would Matthew say to him to try and explain that it was ok? They could trust Russia.. Russia would take care of him. He promised.

Aside from the Prime Minister.. how would he break the news to England? To Papa France? To.. to America..?

"Um.. Ivan?" He said softly, "I'm worried. I'm worried that Alfred is.. is really not going to like this.."

Ivan reached across the seat to take Matthew's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Do not worry about the American, Matvey."

"But what if he-"

"I said do not worry!"

Matthew shrank back from the Russian, startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice. The temper was back. With it came Matthew's memories of being beaten should he step too far out of line. Would it always be this way? Had he traded Alfred's arrogance for Ivan's unpredictably short fuse?

Matthew stared out his window, fields of white snow and forest flying by, but he didn't notice. He did see Ivan's reflection in the glass however, and for a moment he thought the Russian was watching him. For a brief moment he thought he saw regret touch those violet eyes. He kept quiet tho, and so did Ivan, for the remainder of the drive.

The sights and sounds of Moscow were dazzling to Matthew. He'd been there once before, when Ivan held a world meeting at his home city. Matthew hadn't been brave enough to wander out on his own to tour. Alfred had already gone off with Kiku in search of fun, and there had been no one left for Matthew to spend time with. So he'd stayed in his hotel room with his polar bear until it was time to leave for home.

His face was plastered to the window as they drove, drinking in all the wonders of this foreign city. He gasped excitedly and pointed his finger at a huge building in the distance with coloured spires. "Is that-?"

"Yes," answered Ivan, keeping his eye on the road, "It is The Kremlin. One day I take you there, da? See it up close."

"Really? That would be great! When can we go? Tomorrow maybe, when we're settled?" Matthew smiled at Ivan, hopeful and glad that the Russian's bad mood seemed to have passed.

"Perhaps."

The car made it's way through the busy city, then turned into a long driveway that was blocked by a huge, iron gate. Ivan undid his window and leaned out, punching in a code onto a keypad. The iron doors creaked as they slowly swung open. Matthew watched as the doors closed behind them with a clatter once they'd driven through.

At the end of the driveway was a huge mansion that almost looked more like a castle. It was dark and dreary, it's glory days long passed. Matthew thought perhaps it might look lovely in the Summer with some greenery around, but in Winter it looked stone cold and lonely. So this was where Ivan lived?

He'd heard that Ivan almost never took in visitors, except for his sisters and the Baltic states. He could see why, tho he doubted Ivan cared to have too much pride.

Ivan pulled the car into a garage who's door was opening automatically. He parked and killed the engine.

A servant rushed to the drivers side door and bowed low as Ivan stepped out. Matthew got out himself and went around the back of the car, going to Ivan's side. He eyed the servant, noticing that the man was shaking. He was clearly terrified.. and the Canadian realized that the feeling was mutual. He was starting to feel overwhelmed. He'd spent months and months by himself in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere with only Ivan for company. Now here he was in the heart of a massive city..

He grasped for Ivan's hand, staying close as they entered the house.

"Welcome home, Russia." Another servant, this one female, bowed to them once they were inside. She glanced at Matthew, and he thought her eyes held a touch of pity. "Master Yao is waiting for you in the sitting room."

Ivan nodded and led Canada further into the house.

"China is here?" Matthew asked, curious.

"Yes. He is waiting to speak with us."

Matthew glanced around as they went down a long hallway. There were pictures hanging everywhere. Russia's past bosses, and present. Family pictures of Ukraine and Belarus. The wallpaper and light fixtures looked old. There were cracks in the ceiling. Matthew wondered why Russia didn't take better care of his home, at least for his own sake.

Ivan stopped at a pair of large doors. He looked down at Matthew, and smiled, brushing the blond hair out of his eyes. "Do not speak. Let me explain to him what has happened, da?"

Ivan bent to place a soft kiss on the Canadian's lips. Matthew only felt confused, but nodded. He would stay quiet. Not that it was unusual for Canada to stay quiet anyway.

Ivan pushed the doors open and led the little Canadian in. There, sitting on one of the couches drinking tea, was China.

"Mr. Russia!" Yao set the teacup down and immediately rose to his feet. His mouth opened to begin speaking when he noticed Matthew at Ivan's side. He tilted his head. "...who?"

"Canada." Ivan answered, sounding annoyed.

Matthew's cheeks flushed and he moved to half hide behind Ivan's arm, suddenly feeling shy. He almost wished they were still back at the cabin.. but that was crazy.

"You.. were serious." Yao sounded as if he didn't believe who he was seeing, and was choosing his words carefully. "You really went and took him."

"Of course," Ivan smirked, " I told you I would. And I told you that Canada would become part of Russia." Ivan nudged Matthew to come out from hiding, but Matthew stayed put. His eyes were closed and he was picturing the warm fire and the bearskin rug back at the cabin, with Ivan's arms around him, comforting him. He didn't like being here, being stared at by China. He ducked back even further.

"Russia," Yao's voice was serious, stern, "You can't possibly hope to gain the upper hand by taking Canada."

Matthew felt Ivan stiffen beside him. Suddenly worried, he shrunk away, afraid of the larger man. Ivan was angry at Yao. Would he raise his fists to beat him?

Yao, seemingly unaffected by Ivan's temper, watched Matthew curiously. He turned an angry expression at the Russian.

"What did you do to him?"

Ivan suddenly grabbed Matthew's wrist and stalked out of the room, dragging Matthew with him.

"Ivan Braginsky! What did you do to Canada? Why wont he speak! Why is he afraid?" Yao called after them.

"Be silent, Yao!" He snarled over his shoulder, "I will be right back."

Ivan took Matthew into another room located on the other side of the hall. It was a small study with a single, comfortable looking chair, a window with laced white curtains and four cases full of books. The wallpaper in here was shredding from age, but it looked well kept when compared to the hallway. The Russian set his hands on Matthew's shoulders and took a deep, calming breath. Matthew waited nervously, wondering if he'd done something wrong to make China angry.

"I am sorry, Matvey." said Ivan, after a long silence, "It seems that China is not yet ready to discuss our agreement. Will you stay here while I speak with him privately?"

Matthew nodded. He was much happier to stay alone in this room. He had always been uncomfortable being around whenever the other nations were upset. Now he felt terrified. He was glad to let Ivan handle this for them both.

Ivan waited until Matthew was settled comfortably in the chair before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

The walls were thin in this house. Matthew could hear the muffled voices of the Russian and China talking in the next room. If it could be called a discussion it was very heated. When they started shouting, Matthew could hear every word very clearly.

"Have you gone mad?" Yao shouted.

"You know the answer." Ivan snarled back.

"The entire world is looking for him, Ivan! America was convinced he was kidnapped as soon as it was noticed Canada was missing. He has been threatening all nations to open their borders indefinitely so search parties can find him."

"I am aware. I hid him well for long time."

"Long enough to brainwash him. I saw that. But it's foolishness, Ivan. Alfred will have your neck long before you can think of getting your military anywhere near Canada."

Matthew heard the double doors slam hard enough to shake the walls. A moment later the door to the little study burst open and Ivan stalked in. Matthew tried to stand, but yelped when he was scooped up off the floor. He curled in close to Ivan's body to avoid smacking his head off the door frame as the Russian carried him from the room, like he was a jealously guarded prize. Yao appeared at the double doors and stepped into the hallway.

"Leave my house." Ivan growled at him. Yao nodded his head.

"I will. But I tell you this was not a wise idea, Ivan." He watched as the Russian walked away with Canada in his arms. "The pebble at the bottom looks insignificant and small, but if you pluck it away the entire mountain may come crashing down, ending us all."

"Spare me your proverbs."

And with that, Yao was gone.

Ivan climbed a set of stairs, then opened a door to a large bedroom. There was a huge bed in the centre of the back wall. A large desk with a computer to the right, book shelves everywhere around it and to the left a patio door that led to a wide veranda. The room looked as tho it could have been luxurious once. Now, along with the rest of the house, it looked unkept and old.

Ivan set Matthew down gently on the bed, then went to open the patio and go outside, shutting the door behind him. The little Canadian could see him through the glass, leaning against the railing, his shoulders tensed. His hands fisted against the railing, the knuckles pink from the cold.

Matthew watched him, wondering if it was safe to go and try to talk to the man. He could almost see a purple haze of anger hovering around Ivan, and decided that no, it was safer just to leave him alone for now and stay in here. Stay.. and try very hard not to think about the things he just heard.

He curiously gazed around the room. Spying another door, he got up from the bed and quietly tiptoed over. A peek inside revealed a washroom with the biggest clawfoot bathtub he'd ever seen. Stars glazed across his eyes as he watched little trickles of droplets falling from the faucet. Hot... water...

Matthew glanced towards the balcony, seeing Ivan still standing outside fuming to himself. Well.. there was nothing else to do.. so..

He slipped inside the washroom and closed the door. He shoved the stopper into the drain. He twisted the hot faucet to full and ran his hands beneath the water. Pure bliss. Matthew thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

When it ran too hot and started to scald, he added a little bit of cold and stepped back to wait for the tub to fill. The room began to fill with steam.

Matthew searched through the cupboards under the sink and smiled when he found what he was looking for. Bubble bath! He dumped in a large amount and watched as suds started to form and grow.

When the tub was full he twisted the faucets to stop the water. He stripped off his clothes and carefully put one foot in, then the other. The bottom was slippery and the water was so hot he could barely stand it. He lowered himself in carefully, feeling all the tension in his muscles draining away. The thoughts in his head drained away also..

He didn't need to worry. Ivan would take care of everything. Ivan had it under control.

"Can I join you?"

Matthew jumped. The little Canadian hadn't even heard the door open! Ivan was in the washroom with him, gazing down at him. The smile was back in place on the Russian's face. Matthew relaxed, feeling relieved. All was well again.

"Of.. of course!"

Matthew watched, astounded, as the Russian began to remove his clothes. The jacket had already been removed and left outside. Ivan pulled his sweater over his head and Matthew sank lower into the bubbles in hopes the Russian wouldn't see him staring. His chest was sculpted and pale. It was covered in old scars. So were his arms and back. Matthew wasn't sure he wanted to know the story behind all of them. His own body had a scar here or there, but he wasn't nearly as old as Russia. His past not so checkered with blood and violence.

Ivan unfastened his pants and let them drop from his hips. Matthew had already seen that part of the Russian, but it was still a sight to behold. He blushed, but then his eyes were drawn to the scarf that Ivan was unwrapping from his neck, leaving him completely bare. So he DID take it off.. from time to time.

The scarf was carefully folded and put on a shelf. Ivan stepped into the tub and sank down into the water with a sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Matthew set a small glob of bubbles on the end of the Russian's nose. He snickered.

Ivan suddenly grabbed the little Canadian and pulled him across the tub. Matthew yelped in surprise, water sloshing over the sides, then he found himself straddling the Russian's lap. The larger mans' hard arousal poked up between his legs. Ivan fisted his hair and pulled him into a searching kiss that was as hot as the water.

"You are mine, little Matvey," he said softly, then nibbled on Matthew's bottom lip, "Never be forgetting that, da?"

Matthew nodded. "Da."

The Russian reached down into the water between their bodies. He placed himself at Matthew's entrance. Matthew braced himself with his knees, his arms around Ivan's neck, and lowered himself slowly with a shuddering sigh. Ivan had been right.. it did not hurt. He was not sore at all from yesterday, and now with the help of the heat to relax his body and the slippery soapiness of the water the Russian slid into him easily.

Fully seated in Ivan's lap, Matthew squirmed a bit to position his legs just right. He leaned forward and up, the throbbing hardness inside him sliding out nearly all the way. Then he sat back down in a rush that caused them both to shudder and gasp.

"Yeessss.." the Russian hissed out the word through his teeth, "Ride it.."

Matthew rocked up and down in Ivan's lap. He began to pant, the heat of the water and the air making his hair stick damply to his face and neck. When he lost the rhythm, Ivan grasped his hips and pulled and pushed the little Canadian, urging him on.

"Ah-!"

Matthew made mewling cries of pleasure. Ivan groaned low in his ear.

The water sloshed around in the tub, spilling over the sides. Their movements were frenzied, out of sync. Matthew whined when Ivan pushed him off, then pulled himself out of the tub. He motioned for Matthew to follow. Careful not to slip, Matthew did as Ivan directed him to, bending over the cupboard. Ivan grasped him from behind and the little Canadian gasped out a cry when the Russian slid back into him, slick and hot.

He pushed back against the Russian's thrusts, meeting them eagerly. Their bodies made slapping sounds against each other. Matthew's fingers gripped the edge of the cupboard and he looked up into the mirror. He saw the mighty Ivan mounted behind him, driving into him with such a fierce look on his face that it sent Matthew spiraling over the edge into bliss.

Ivan followed suit, burying his hips as deeply into the little Canadian as he could. He finished with a grunt, then collapsed over Matthew, his forehead resting on the sink beside the Canadian's face.

He panted, sweat dripping from his silver hair that hung in clumps. Matthew bore his weight, tho he felt very shaky, his legs like rubber.

"Wow.." The little Canadian whispered. Ivan opened his eyes and smiled, looking very spent.

"You are amazing, my little Matvey." Ivan kissed his cheek before easing himself free and standing to stretch. He bent to pull the plug from the tub, then turned the water back on for a shower.

Matthew joined him. They took turns washing each other, then wrapped each other up in towels.

"What about the mess?" Matthew motioned to the water all over the floor. Ivan shook his head.

"Servant job."

Matthew let himself be guided back to the bedroom where he was pulled into the large bed and buried under thick covers. The little Canadian savoured the feeling of laying naked with his Russian, their legs tangled together, Ivan's arms draped around him. He slipped into a peaceful slumber, free of stress and fear and without a hint of loneliness.

All his worries were far away.

Or rather.. they were fast approaching... in a black, unmarked helicopter.


	8. Chapter 8

When Canada woke up he found himself snuggled against a Russian who was still sound asleep. Ivan was snoring softly. He was sprawled out over the bed like an oversized, lazy bear. Matthew thought it was adorable.

He lightly kissed the end of Ivan's nose. The Russian twitched, frowing softly, but he did not wake.

"Ivaaaaan.."

There was still no more of a response than another soft snore. The sleep must be deep.

Matthew snickered. He wiggled closer to whisper into the Russian's ear.

"When you wake up, you will give Matthew William's all the pancakes he can eat for breakfast."

Did Russia even have pancakes? Matthew hoped there was more maple syrup at least.

Ivan's violet eyes snapped open suddenly. His pupils were narrowed and alert. Canada startled with a yelp and quickly moved to get away when the Russian's hands grabbed for him, pulling him back down.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I was only kidd- mmph!"

A large hand clapped over his mouth as Ivan sat up, a deep frown on his face. He was stock still and silent, concentrating very hard on something.

Matthew waited, wondering if the Russian had a nightmare he couldn't quite shake off. Then he heard a strange sound. Almost like a buzzing sound, far into the distance.. but gradually getting closer.

The blond pulled Ivan's hand away from his mouth. He nudged the Russian in the side lightly, smiling.

"It's just a helicopter.. don't they usually fly around your city? Like.. news helicopters or something?"

"Quiet."

Matthew pursed his lips together and waited again, listening. The helicopter sounded as though it was coming towards the house. Ivan slid out of the bed and grabbed a folded pair of boxers from a stand, pulling them on. Pants followed next.

He pointed at Matthew, a deathly serious look on his face. "Stay in this room. Put clothing on, but do not leave this room. Do you hear me, Matvey?"

The little Canadian nodded. He would not leave the room.

Russia left without even putting a shirt on. The door closed behind him and Matthew let out a shaky breath. The helicopter was even louder now, as if it were hovering right over the house. Matthew thought he could hear sirens approaching as well.

What in the world..? That couldn't be just a news helicopter.

He slipped out from under the blankets and looked for something to put on. They'd forgotten the sack in the car. The one with all his clothes in it. And his clothes he'd worn yesterday had been left on the washroom floor where they'd gotten soaked. The servants must have come into the night to collect them because they were gone now.

Matthew started to search around the room for something of Ivan's to wear. He found a comfortable looking white tshirt in a drawer and slipped it over his head. It went down over his hips, way too big.. but that couldn't be helped for now. Next he found a pair of pants and a belt. He had to roll up the legs into cuffs and cinch the belt as tightly as it would go.. but in the end he was dressed. A quick glance in a mirror hanging on the wall made Matthew laugh. He looked silly. But it didn't matter because the sound of the helicopter was roaring now, low and close enough for the noise to hurt his ears.

Matthew went to the patio door to peek out, staying hidden behind the curtains. A huge black chopper with no markings had landed on Ivan's front lawn. It's propeller was still spinning madly, kicking up a mist of snow around it. In the distance Matthew could see Russian police cars rushing towards the house, their sirens blasting.

He saw Ivan outside on the front lawn stalking towards the helicopter, looking angry and dangerous. He was still bare chested, and had his metal faucet in his hand. Matthew worried that he would freezing to death in the icy air. At least the Russian had pulled his boots on before going outside.

Suddenly thinking the Russian would want his scarf when he came back in, Matthew went to retrieve it from the shelf in the bathroom where it had been left. No longer at the window he didn't see the helicopter door open. He didn't see who jumped out. He didn't hear the yelling and the threats, nor the police cars swarming the scene, surrounding the helicopter and it's passengers.

He did hear the beginning of gunshots, however.

Matthew gasped and ran back to the window in time to see the helicopter door slam shut. It's passengers were all safely back inside before the Russian police had opened fire. The bullets only ricocheted off the bullet proof glass and sides of the chopper, sending some of the officers scattering. More police were coming, as well as three army trucks filled with troops.

Matthew watched the scene in awe.

Ivan burst back into the bedroom, the door slamming against the wall. He was panting and looked frantic.

"Get away from there!" He shouted, running over and dragging Matthew back from the patio door.

"What's going on?" Matthew shouted over the noise of the gunfire outside. It sounded like the helicopter was returning fire now. Men were screaming in Russian. The noise was deafening.

"Put on your jacket!" Ivan yelled, grabbing a shirt and throwing it over his shoulders, then quickly shrugging into his long grey coat. Matthew was afraid. Ivan seemed so desperate. So scared. He pulled his jacket on, then went to find his boots but Ivan threw a blanket over his head and picked him up, dragging him from the room.

"Ivan! Ivan, I can't see! I don't have my boots!" He wiggled, trying to push the blanket off his head. His glasses were almost falling off his face. But he was only hitched more tightly beneath the Russian's arm as he was carried along.

"No time."

Matthew heard glass shattering and bullets smacking against the stone walls of the house. Somewhere he heard the female servant screaming for help. He bounced along as Russia rushed through the house, passing through rooms, then out a door. He was finally set down on a ground made of concrete. He curled his toes in his socked feet. It was cold.

He peeked from beneath the blanket. They were in the garage. The Russian was unlocking the door to another car that sat next to the large, fancy looking one they'd driven yesterday. This car wasn't as big and looked much less conspicuous.

Ivan swore, smashing his fist against the steering wheel when the car would not start right away. He pumped the gas and turned the key again and the engine sputtered to life. It began to rumble obediently.

The Russian looked up and saw Matthew waiting, watching him, uncertain.

"Get in." He commanded, and the little Canadian hurried over. "Back seat." Matthew got into the back. "Lay down, and keep the blanket over your head. Do not move, Matvey."

Matthew did as he was told. He trembled beneath the blanket, curled up on his side. He hugged the Russian's scarf to his chest. He'd never let it go in all the mad dash to get out of the house.

He heard the mechanical whir of the garage door opening. Then all was complete chaos.

Matthew closed his eyes and buried his nose into Ivan's scarf. There was gunfire and explosions everywhere. Bullets smacked the side of the car as they screeched out of the garage. The back window shattered and Matthew screamed as glass rained down into the back seat. The car swerved sharply. Matthew assumed Ivan was steering to avoid hitting his police and army men. The car fishtailed when it went into the snow but surged forward anyway, taking them rapidly away from the war scene.

The sounds of fighting gradually faded into the distance the further they drove away. It was replaced by sounds of the city, and the sound of the car engine fighting to keep up with the speed Ivan wanted it to go. Matthew stayed beneath the blanket, too afraid to sit up. Besides.. he was covered in glass.

Where were they going now? What was going on? And who had been in the black helicopter? What did they want?

He closed his eyes tightly. He didn't care. He was with Ivan and that was all that mattered.

The car left the city behind, and all was silent except for the whistling, icy wind that was thanks to the blown out back window. Matthew shivered, thankful for the blanket covering him, but it was still cold. He longed to hear the Russian's voice. He wanted Ivan to tell him everything was ok.. but the man was silent.

Matthew thought hours had past before they finally pulled off the road. He felt the car being parked, and heard tree branches scraping softly against the roof. He peeked out from under his blanket to see a bough of evergreen poking in at him through the back window.

Ivan shut the engine off and got out of the car. He opened the back seat and began brushing off all the glass from the blanket, then took Matthew's hand to carefully help him out. The little Canadian's hair was standing on end thanks to static from being wrapped in the blanket for so long. Ivan brushed the strands down, smoothing them. Matthew had never seen Ivan look afraid before. There was so much worry in the Russian's face. The Canadian's heart twisted, but then he remembered he had the scarf.

"I brought this for you." He gave the Russian a small smile, holding the scarf up for Ivan to see. Ivan took the scarf and gazed at it, running it's softness between his fingers. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then he wrapped the scarf around the little Canadian's shoulders and neck.

"It will keep Matvey warm." He said softly, then kissed the top of the Canadian's head.

Matthew rubbed his cheek into the fabric of the scarf. He felt a tear prickle at his eye. Something significant had just happened, tho he wasn't quite sure what.

Then he noticed his feet were aching with soreness from the cold. He was only in his socks! Standing in the snow! He squeaked and started hopping from foot to foot.

Ivan laughed and picked him up, carrying him to the place where the snow machine was hidden. Soon they were on their way.

Matthew was still wrapped in the blanket, sitting in front of Ivan as he drove. He pulled the scarf up over his nose to let his own hot breath warm his face. It was freezing. The wind was icy cruel and blowing directly towards them. Snow was falling, stinging at their faces. Ivan had no gloves on, no hat and no scarf. Matthew thought he must be frozen, but the man did not complain. His eyes were set dead ahead, filled with determination.

The little Canadian was quite sure they were not heading in the direction of the cabin. It felt like they were leaning more to the east, towards the mountains. Perhaps there was another place Ivan had in mind for them to go. A safe place, protected by the mountain range, where no one could find them.

The roar of the snow machine beneath them was as comforting as it had always been. Matthew's head rested against Ivan's chest and he felt his eyes drifting closed. Sleep would allow him to escape the terror of all that had happened that morning. But before he could drift off, he thought he heard a sound above the whirr of the snow machine. A buzzing again, in the distance.

Matthew's eyes flew open and he pulled himself up to look over the Russian's shoulder behind them. His hair flew wildly in the wind. He spied the black helicopter in the clear blue sky above immediately and he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Oh no! Ivan, it found us!"

Ivan glanced behind him briefly and swore in Russian. He kicked up the speed of the snow machine and veered off the path and into the trees. Matthew almost lost his seat and yelped, grasping at anything he could for balance. The helicopter flew steadily closer.

Matthew's dangerous driving from a few days before seemed like child's play when compared to the risks the Russian took now. He plunged through the forest, ducking under half fallen trees and zipping around large boulders. The snow machine dipped and swayed and growled in the air when they nearly flipped coming around a turn. Ivan's shoulder scraped against a tree, his jacket ripping open. Still, they raced on.

The burst into a clearing and Matthew saw a river ahead. It was only half frozen. There looked to be a wide ice bridge they could use to cross, but on either side the water roiled and crashed, sending huge chunks of ice everywhere.

A thrill of fear screamed up Matthew's spine, but he steeled himself against it. He knew if they were going fast enough they could make it, even if the ice were thin. The black shadow of the helicopter that flew so low to the ground now was all the incentive Ivan needed to kick up the gears to their highest. They raced for the river.. but they did not see the dip in the ground.. the rock.. hidden beneath the snow..

Matthew screamed when the snow machine smacked into something solid, throwing them both forward. He smacked down hard onto his side and tumbled end over end before coming to a stop onto the ice of the river. Terrible crackling sounds were all around him. He blinked and shook his head, the impact briefly having taken away his sight. Once the world came back into focus he felt his stomach drop into his knees. He was laying in the middle of the river on the ice bridge. Water was rushing all around him, eating away at his icy safety net, spraying him with freezing cold.

His eyes were wild as he searched for Ivan. Had the Russian been thrown through the ice?

"Matvey!"

He turned his head. Ivan had made it to the other side safely. He'd been thrown further than Matthew had. He was carefully stepping out onto the ice to get to the little Canadian, but it wouldn't hold his weight. The ice shattered beneath his feet and he was forced to step back.

"MATTHEW!"

Another voice called his name. Matthew carefully moved to raise his head and see the side of the river they'd come from. The black helicopter had landed. Three people had gotten out. Papa France, Father England.. and America.

Alfred was running towards the river.

"I'll save you, Mattie! Don't worry!" he called, but his first step onto the ice taught him the very same thing the Russian had learned. It would not hold his weight. The American stepped back to access the situation.

Matthew was laying in the middle of the river on a patch of very thin ice. Russia was safely on one side, Alfred on the other.

Matthew thought his heart would explode from the way it was pounding in his chest. There was too much going on. He was so happy to see Alfred and his two fathers, but he was terrified. The ice beneath him could give way any second. He heard the rushing water beneath him, cold and threatening. If he went under the current would carry him away in a second.

Alfred was shouting at England to get him some rope. Papa France was shouting for Matthew to stay still, it was alright, they would save him. The helicopter was still whirling, waiting, and was blowing the snow from the trees. An icy wind howled.

"Matvey."

Matthew looked up. Ivan was holding onto the branch of a small tree by the river's mouth and was leaning out. His hand was extended. He was waist deep in the water. The river pushed ice against him, wanting to carry him away, but Ivan was strong and held on fast. He stretched his arm out as far as he could.

"Come here. Carefully."

Matthew couldn't move. He was so frightened.

He heard his family of nations shouting across the river. He glanced over to see that England had gotten the rope for Alfred who was now quickly tying a lasso. America was good at roping. It came from years of running ranches, herding all those cows he liked to eat so much.

"Matvey."

Matthew looked back to the Russian. His eyes were violet and wild with fear and something else that the little Canadian had never seen in them before. He mouthed one word.

"Please."

Matthew carefully began scooting forward on the ice on his belly. It crackled dangerously beneath him. He breathed heavily, scared to death, but stretched his hand out. His finger's touched the very tips of Ivan's.

"DAMMIT MATTHEW!" he heard Alfred yell.

Ivan's body suddenly jerked back, thrown violently into the snow on the river bank. A terrible sound like thunder echoed through the air.

Matthew cried out in shock and anguish. He saw the Russian's body laying prone and still. Blood seeped into the snow around him.

The little Canadian's hand was still reaching out. A lasso flew from nowhere and wrapped around his arm. He screamed as he was twisted around on the ice and dragged backwards, away from Ivan. The ice gave way and he plunged into the freezing water, but only for a moment. He was pulled to safety and into the waiting arms of France.

"Ivan!"

Matthew struggled in France's arms. He caught a glimpse of the gun America had used to shoot the Russian. "Ivan!"

"Hold him!" he heard England yell. They began to wrestle him back to the helicopter. He fought them savagely, beating at them with his fists. America's took hold around his chest, pinning his wrists with his hands. France had his legs locked together. They carried him to the helicopter.

"Russia!" Matthew screamed desperately, his voice echoing from the mountains. "RUSSIAAAAAAA!"

They struggled to get him into the helicopter. He was inconsolable. They could not calm him down. He heard England shout to do something, anything to quiet him long enough to get the chopper into the air. Something smashed into the back of his head.. and the world went black.


	9. Chapter 9

In his dreams he was still on the ice. Ahead of him was Ivan, his outstretched hand, his frightened violet eyes.

The ice cracked beneath him and Matthew plunged into the icy depths. The current swept him away. He screamed for Russia as the man became a speck in the distance. A tiny speck.. nothing more than a snowflake on the wind...

His consciousness came to him in short spurts, as though someone were turning a light bulb on and off inside his head. He saw Alfred's face, full of worry, gazing down at him. He saw what must be the inside of the helicopter. He saw the door open to a group of men and women all dressed in white scrubs and jackets. He saw bright flashes of light and large crowds of people around him, pointing at him with cameras. He saw a man with a flashlight, shining it into his eyes one at a time. He saw his three family members, Arthur and Francis sitting in chairs, Alfred leaning against a wall with his arms over his chest. They were talking quietly. He heard bits and pieces of what they were saying.. before drifting back into blackness again.

'Stolkholm syndrome..'

'Have to be gentle with him..'

'Let him take it slow, Alfred.. don't rush in to asking him intimate questions about what happened..'

Music.

Matthew heard music, faintly. A song he used to loved listening to whenever he was feeling down.

'At the end of the day, you've just got to say it's alriiiight~'

It was Ordinary Day by Great Big Sea. He loved their music.

Matthew slowly opened his eyes. Everything was blurry and bright.

There was a radio playing the music at a low volume, sitting on a stand beside the bed he was laying on.

'I've got a smile on my face and I've got four walls around meeee~'

The song went on.

Where were his glasses?

Matthew sat up and instantly regretted it. His head began to pound with pain. His hand went to the source of the ache on the back of his skull. His head was wrapped in a bandage, making his hair stick out funny around it.

He noticed his glasses sitting next to the radio on the stand and reached for them, then pushed them onto his nose. There. The world was a little less blurry now, but only just. He felt like he'd been sleeping forever. Why did his head hurt so much? Did something hit him?

He was dressed in an oversized red plaid shirt. He recognized it as the one he'd always worn to bed. It's flannel was soft and comforting. He hugged himself and glanced around the room. It was painted all in white and had fluorescent lights overhead. The brightness of them was making his head ache worse. It smelled funny in this room, unfamiliar, and the white sheets that covered him on the bed were stiff. There were voices outside this room. The door was slightly askew and he could see people dressed in scrubs walking past. He heard a female voice speaking in English over a PA system, calling for someone named Doctor Gordon Thompson to please come to emergency.

He was in a hospital. Why was he in a hospital?

Matthew fought to remember what happened. Log cabin, snow, a ski-doo, the river..

It didn't take long for his memory to smack him so hard in the face that he fell back against the pillows with a gasp.

Ivan.

Ivan had been shot. He was.. he was dead.

Matthew covered his face with his hands. The lump in his throat felt so huge it was impossible to swallow. He thought it would choke him.

"Ah, mon petite Matthieu is awake."

Matthew looked up to see France stroll into his room with a large bouquet of flowers in his arms. The flowers were nestled in a pretty glass vase. A plastic 'welcome home' sign was sticking up in the centre. France set the vase down next to the radio.

"And how are you feeling, hmm? Much warmer now, and comfortable in your jammies? We went to your house to get those for you."

Matthew closed his eyes. A tear clung to his lashes before making it's way down his cheek. It fell and made a tiny wet spot on the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

"My heart hurts.." he whispered.

Francis chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to the Canadian. He pulled a tissue from a box on a shelf and carefully patted away Matthew's tears as they fell.

"Do you not mean your head hurts? Alfred hit you pretty hard with his gun."

Gun. America's gun. The one that had shot Russia.

Matthew's fingers clenched in the blankets. His hair fell around his face. He frowned so hard it pulled his lips up into a snarl. He started to shake.

"Try to stay calm, Matthieu." Francis said softly, patiently, "Don't let it overwhelm you."

"He killed him!" Matthew burst out in a sob, "Alfred killed him!"

"He killed.. who?" Francis blinked, confused, and tilting his head. A moment later realization came to him and he smiled. "No one is dead, mon petite." He left the bed and went to turn on the little television set hanging from the ceiling. "See?"

The CBC news station flashed up on the screen. A caption written in bold black letters that said 'CANADA HAS COME HOME' was beneath different scenes that kept playing over and over. Matthew being carried from the black helicopter in the arms of France. Matthew being handed over to the staff of the Ottawa general hospital. Alfred wildly throwing the news reporters a hero's 'thumbs up'. Arthur looking awkward and like he'd rather not be in front of the cameras. Grainy pictures of a weak and bloodied Ivan being bundled up in blankets and taken into the back of a Russian ambulance.

The caption changed to 'WILL RUSSIA ANSWER FOR HIS CRIME?'

Matthew stared at the tv, his eyes were wide. Ivan was ok? He was alive? He felt his heart crawling out of the dark, sunken place it was in before. A warm glow lit his cheeks. The Russian wasn't dead..

"A single bullet would never do away with your mighty Ivan, mon petite," Francis smiled and sat back down on the bed beside Matthew. He pulled a long piece of fabric from his jacket pocket and set it in the little Canadian's hands. Matthew felt joy to see that it was Ivan's scarf. He hugged it to his chest, then buried his nose into it's softness. It still smelled of the musky, earthy scent of his lover. His.. Ivan?

He looked back to Francis. The taller blond had a knowing smile on his face.

"What do I do, Papa?" he asked, his question so much larger than he even realized. In his mind, despite everything that had happened, Canada was part of Russia. He had to go back to Russia to be with Ivan. He had to tell the Prime Minister about the alliance and.. and..

He felt a strange, twisted confusion taking hold in his heart. Did he have to do those things?

France was gazing at him gently. He took Matthew's hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"You're home now, Matthieu. For now you need to rest and get better. But you also need to think carefully about yourself and your people. Think about the way things are right now. Then think about the way things might be if Russia were here."

The door burst open suddenly and America strolled in, looking proud and pleased with himself. England followed behind, a much more serious look on his face.

"Welcome home, Mattie!" Alfred cheered, and Matthew covered his ears. His brothers voice hurt his head. He didn't move when the American wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly. "My baby bro, back safe and sound from the frozen wastelands! All thanks to me, the hero! HA HA HA!"

Matthew's frown was so dark that France shuffled away from the bed. Alfred didn't see it tho. He was still too busy hugging and chattering on and on about his daring rescue efforts.

England cleared his throat.

"Alfred.. please stop choking your brother like that."

"Huh?" America noticed Matthew's angry look. He let go and stepped back. "Oh. Sorry!"

"Thank you." said England, then turned his attention to his younger son. "Matthew? How are you feeling?"

Matthew's face was stony and dark. He looked at all three faces gazing back at him. France with a sad smile, America looking proud and loud even tho for the moment he was silent, and England gazing at him with concern.. and a hint of suspicion.

Matthew took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He pasted a small, weak smile on his face.

"I'm feeling better, Father. I'm glad to be home." That much was true. He was happy to be back in his own land.

"Good." England regarded him for a long moment, then came near enough to pat Matthew on the shoulder. "If you're alright, then I'll need to head back home."

Matthew nodded. He didn't expect Father England to stay and watch over him. The man was prudish. He knew deep down inside England cared, but he very much preferred to no longer be tangled up too tightly in the affairs of his two sons.

France too, got up to leave. He kissed Matthew on the forehead beneath his bandages.

"Au revoir, mon petite Matthieu. I leave you in the caring hands of America."

"That's right! Don't you guys worry at all! Mattie'll be back sooner than you know it!" Alfred gave them a peace sign as the two left the room.

Matthew gave a half hearted wave goodbye. Then he rolled over in his hospital bed, drew up the covers over his head, and hugged Ivan's scarf close to his chest. He ignored his brother until the American gave up trying to talk to him and eventually left as well.

The hospital kept him for a month. Matthew had lost quite a bit of weight during his captivity in Russia. He quickly gained it back under the doctor's care. It also helped that his people kept sending him maple cookies and fudge as 'get well' presents.

America called him every day, but Matthew never answered the phone. He deleted every single one of Alfred's voice mails, and he never texted back.

His boss came to see him frequently. The Prime Minister insisted that Matthew see a counselor for 'debriefing' sessions. The counselor sat in a chair beside the hospital bed, quietly taking nose as Matthew calmly explained everything that had happened. Yes, he had been kidnapped by Russia. Yes, he had been kept in isolation in a cabin in the woods. No, Russia had not mistreated him. Yes, he had nearly starved but that was because he refused to eat. Yes, he had tried everything in his power to escape.. right up until his family had come to rescue him. No, there was no need to be concerned about a takeover plot. There was no takeover plot. Canada was still an independent nation.. who was apologizing profusely to the rest of the world for all the trouble and commotion.

...not that the rest of the world even remembered that Canada had been gone.

Matthew was released and sent home, finally, to his modest house located close to the parliament buildings in Ottawa. His polar bear was overjoyed to see him and the feeling was mutual. Matthew had hugged him so hard he'd nearly squished the poor bear in half. Then he fed him a huge meal of fish topped with plenty of maple syrup.

Matthew flopped down into his bed and buried his face in his pillows. He couldn't get the Russian's face out of his mind. His eyes. The expression in his eyes just before he'd been shot..

Matthew sat up and rubbed at the back of his head where the bump was finally starting to go away. He had to try and stop thinking about Russia. He was home now, in Canada. Independent Canada. Canada that no one paid attention to, but it didn't matter because Canada knew he was strong and free. Sure, he looked very much like his brother but he'd worked so hard to be different. To be recognized as a completely different nation.. who stood beside big brother.. and quietly allowed him to make all the decisions..

He'd lied to his boss and to everyone about what had happened.. but he just didn't want to tell anyone the truth. He didn't even want to admit it to himself. If he allowed himself to think on it too hard.. he'd realize how foolish he'd been. How dangerous a game he'd played with Russia.. and almost lost.

There was a knock on his door.

Sigh. He didn't want visitors. But grudgingly he pushed himself off his bed and wandered to his front door, opening it.. then quickly shutting it again once he saw who was standing outside.

"Aww, c'mon, Mattie!" Alfred whined, muffled, pounding against the door. "Lemme in! I brought hamburgers!"

Blech.

"I don't want your greasy burgers, Alfred."

"I brought donuts too!"

A few moments later.. the door squeaked open. Just a little bit. Alfred laughed and pushed his way inside. He set aside the two bags he'd bought - one from McDonalds and one from Tim Hortons - and grabbed his little brother up into a tight hug. Matthew was limp in his arms, unresponsive.

When he was released Matthew stole into the Tim Hortons bag, fishing out a donut. At least Alfred remembered that his favourite was maple. He nibbled on it. Alfred grinned.

"I came to cheer you up by taking you out for the day! Ottawa has some exciting places to go, right? We can do whatever you want!"

Matthew was licking the sticky maple icing off the top of his donut. He shook his head.

"I don't want to go out, Al. I don't feel up to it."

"But you can't stay in here all day!" Alfred pouted, " It would do you some good to get some fresh air. Besides, you like freezing your ass off out in the cold, don't you? It's so damn cold out there I think my ears are going to fall off."

Matthew glanced at his brother. Alfred's ears were bright red and probably stinging from cold. The American never did know how to dress properly for the Winter.

Would it kill him to go out and enjoy a day in his capital city? Matthew supposed it wouldn't. It was America's accompaniment that he didn't really like the thought of.. but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt deep down inside for how much he'd been rejecting the American since he'd come home. Alfred had been trying so hard to keep in touch with him. And he HAD rescued him. Alfred only meant well. Meant to play the hero. And the hero had shot who he felt was the badguy. That's what hero's did.

Matthew finished his donut.

"Ok. Let's go skating." Canada went to the door and pulled his skates down from where they hung on a hook on the wall.

"Alright!" said America, fist pumping in the air.

Matthew opened the lid to a bin he kept by the door and pulled out some of his spare winter accessories. He handed them to Alfred, then made sure the man put them on.

Bright red mitts, a red and white scarf, and a red toque that said 'Canada' in white. At it's tip was a poofy red and white pompom.

"Why does it need to have a pompom?" Alfred frowned, poking at it. Matthew shrugged.

"It just does."

Matthew pulled on his own winter gear. He retrieved Ivan's scarf and wrapped it around his neck. Alfred frowned at the sight of it, but said nothing. Then the two brothers left the house and headed out into the cold.

The Rideau Canal in Ottawa was the longest skating rink in the world. Matthew breezed along lazily, weaving in and out between citizens who were also skating, enjoying the bright, sunny afternoon. Alfred worked to keep up. He'd rented a pair of skates from a vendor since he didn't have his own with him. America was an excellent skater, but there was no question on which brother had better skills.

Matthew breathed in the icy, clean air. The wind didn't bite at his skin as harshly here as it had back in Russia. The cold was comfortable in his own land. It was manageable if you were dressed correctly. America and his people may think it was unbearably cold in Canada, but Matthew knew better.

"Hey wait up!" Alfred called, skating after him. Matthew slowed down, falling back to skate side by side with Alfred. If he was honest with himself.. he really had missed his brother. He wished he could reach out to take Alfred's hand and hold it.. just like old times.. but he couldn't.

"This is.. nice." Alfred smiled, "Really nice. Got a real sense of community going here. All these people having fun."

Matthew nodded, watching the happy skaters around him. Single people who rushed by, slower elderly people who hung on to their youth with exercise, entire families all skating together. Even mothers skating with baby carriages in front of them.

"How about some hot apple cider, Al?" he asked, then steered his way over to one of the many little wooden huts that lined the canal. There were stools out front for the skaters to sit and rest and have a hot drink.

"Oh thank God," said Alfred, following the little blond. 'I'm frozen."

Matthew sat and sipped at his drink, watching people skating by. A little girl dressed in a pink poofy snowsuit was learning to skate. She took a tumble to her bottom and started to cry. Her daddy quickly skated to her, picked her up on her feet, brushed her off, and held her hand as they continued on their way. Matthew smiled. Life's little lessons while growing up in Canada. He wondered if Ivan would like it here..

Alfred was seated beside him, slurping at his drink.

"So.. how're you feeling, bro?" America's tone was an attempt at being casual. But Alfred was never good at casual. He nudged Matthew. Matthew sighed, dangling his feet beneath him. He could almost touch the ice when seated on the stool but not quite. Stupid shortness.

"I'm.. ok.."

He missed Ivan. He imagined himself skating down the Rideau with the Russian, arm in arm. Ivan would have that smile on his face, but it was a real smile. It was a happy smile. He would challenge Matthew to a race and they would rush off down the canal together, their skills on the ice almost equally matched.. but Matthew would be faster. Ivan would laugh and grab him and kiss him - his reward for winning..

America slurped again at his cider. Matthew blinked out of his daydream.

"I'm going home."

He set his drink down on the counter, hopped off the stool and skated off. He didn't want to be outside anymore.

"Hey wait!" Alfred pushed off to follow him.

Matthew opened the door to his house, and hung his skates back on their place on the wall. He pulled his jacket and boots off, tossing them to the back of his couch and the floor. He wanted a beer from the fridge. He wanted many beers from the fridge. He would drink until he couldn't see straight. Yeah.. that's what he'd do. Beer was almost as good as maple syrup sometimes.

Before he could make his way to the kitchen tho, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around.

"Matthew, talk to me!"

It was Alfred. His face was full of worry.

"You've never been like this with me. You always talk to me. Well.. maybe not always in front of other people but.. whenever we're alone. Right? We're good when we're alone."

Alfred pulled Matthew close, wrapping his arms around the little Canadian. He buried his nose in his brother's soft hair. Matthew made no move to stop him.

"Everything is just the same as it was before.. right?" Alfred's voice was upset and unsure. "Everything is ok."

Hands drifted down to cup Matthew's backside. Matthew didn't stop his brother, standing with his face pressed against Alfred's jacket. He still didn't respond.. didn't move. Once upon a time he would have melted under a touch like that.. but not anymore.

"What's with you?" Alfred said, getting annoyed by the little Canadian's lack of response. Normally Matthew would have been begging for kisses and touches by now., but instead he just stood still, his face stoney and unreadable.

"I just want to be alone." Matthew ducked out of America's arms and turned away. He wanted to be alone and he desperately wanted those beers. He tried again to make his way to his kitchen.

Alfred clenched his fists.

"Ok, that is IT. I've had enough!"

He grabbed Matthew by the shoulder and spun him around again. He yelled into his little brother's face, angry and frustrated at this strange, unknown behavior.

"Forget all this 'be gentle with him' bullshit. I want answers and I want them NOW. What the HELL is going on inside your head, Mattie? Why are you acting like such a little asshole?"

Matthew blinked, surprised by Alfred's anger. He felt his own temper boiling up inside. He jerked his shoulder away.

"I'm not the asshole, Al. YOU are. You constantly shove your nose into my business. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"What do you mean, leave you alone?" yelled American, "If I left you alone you'd still be wasting away in Russia!"

Matthew frowned, reaching to grasp the scarf that was still around his neck. He turned and stalked off into his kitchen. He ripped open the door to his fridge and fished around inside it's contents in search of a beer.

"Maybe that's what you wanted tho, huh Mattie?" Alfred had followed him. "You want to be with that Russian commie bastard. You were fucking him, weren't you?"

"Shut up, Al." Matthew successfully located a beer and shut the fridge door. He tried to get the cap off, but it wouldn't budge.

"You were. You were fucking him and letting him whisper sweet nothings to you about becoming one with Russia."

"Shut. Up. Alfred." Matthew twisted and pulled at the beer cap. He briefly entertained the thought of smashing the bottle over his brothers head. "Ivan wanted me as an ally."

"No, he wanted easy access to ME," shouted Alfred, "If you allied with Russia think about how quickly that commie dog would be moving in his tanks and aiming them all at ME."

"It's not always about you, America!" Matthew yelled sharply, throwing the beer bottle against the wall where it shattered. Beer and broken glass splattered everywhere. "Ivan wanted a friend and he picked me! He likes me! He cares about Canada!"

"NO ONE CARES ABOUT CANADA!"

The sudden shout shocked both brothers into silence.

Alfred clapped his hands over his mouth. His sky blue eyes were wide and staring in disbelief over what he'd just blurted out. Matthew gazed at him silently. Long minutes passed.

The little Canadian squared his shoulders. His normally friendly, passive face grew dark. His hands fisted at his sides. His eyes were narrowed and angry in a way that Alfred had not seen for a very long time. Not since..

Alfred swallowed.

Not since 1812.

The one time in history when he'd managed to piss off his little brother to the point that he'd stormed in and burned the White House. The little blond had been so terrifyingly pissed that he'd burned down half of Washington, but it was the White House that had hurt the most. Alfred had never seen Matthew's temper before that day, and he'd never seen it again since. But Matthew was looking at him like that now, irate, with fire in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mattie.. I didn't mean that." he said weakly.

Matthew stalked towards him. Alfred backed up nervously.

"C'mon, Mattie.. don't be upset.. I didn't mean it. Look! We'll just sit and catch some TV or something, ok?"

The American hurried to the living room to turn on the television. Matthew followed, rolling his shoulder and flexing his fist with full intention of slugging his big brother into next week. But once the TV was switched on the CBC news station began blaring loudly. Matthew stopped and stared at what was flashing across the screen. Alfred stared as well, both of them dumbfounded.

'RUSSIA SURRENDERS'

The news was flashing footage located in front of the parliament buildings, very close to Matthew's house. It was focused on a tall man standing at the centre of a huge crowd of people. Canadian police were pushing those people out of the way to get to him. The man raised his arms in surrender, then calmly allowed himself to be handcuffed. A camera zoomed in on the man's face. Silvery hair drifted softly in the wind. Violet eyes looked sorrowful.

"What the hell.. is he doing here?" America blinked, still staring at the screen. He heard the front door slam. He spun around to see an empty house, save for the little polar bear who was curled up and snoozing in the corner.

Matthew was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

There was a detention facility hidden deep underground in the heart of Ottawa. A place that was built during World War II. It had been maintained for two reasons only since those days, both as a place to put suspected international terrorists should any be caught within Canada's borders, and as a safe bunker in case of nuclear war. It was heavily guarded, both inside and out.

Matthew struggled to get inside.

"Let me in!" The little blond cried, trying to push away the guard who was blocking the door. The guard wouldn't budge. He was dressed in a red jacket and black pants. The uniform of a mountie.

"I'm sorry, Canada." The mountie said, his eyes facing forward and straight ahead. "There is no admittance. Authorized personnel only."

Matthew made a frustrated sound and stomped his foot. This was not right at all. This was HIS country. The entire situation concerning the safety of Canada and the threat from Russia had everything to do with HIM. That was HIS Russian being held somewhere down below. If Matthew wasn't authorized personnel then NO ONE was.

He was so tired of his whole life being dictated and controlled. He'd had enough. He was going to do as he pleased with himself and one thing he could be sure of was that he was going down underground to find Ivan.

"Ok, listen hard because I'm only going to say this once." Matthew grabbed the mountie by the collar and pulled him down to eye level. He glared into the man's eyes.

"You standing here every day, looking big and touch in that uniform? It's because of me. You feed your family something good every night for dinner? It's because of me. You feel safe when you walk around the streets at night? It's because of me. I AM CANADA. You will let me through this door. Right. Now."

Matthew let him go. The mountie's eyes were wide. He stammered, his face red. He swallowed against his collar which he tried to loosen with a finger. Without another word he stepped aside and allowed Matthew to go in.

The deeper Matthew went into the facility, guards were there to try and stop him. Each time Matthew intimidated them and they let him through. Eventually he found the place where they had the Russian detained. It was a large grey room. There was a metal desk with a switchboard that could control the locking system of the doors, the lights and the air filtration system in the room. One half of the room was taken up by a cell. Heavy steel bars kept the two halves of the room separated. The only way in and out was a sliding door which was controlled mechanically. The cell had a cot, a small table, a sink and a toilet.

It also had a Russian.

Matthew rushed to the bars, his eyes misting over with tears. Ivan.

The Russian was seated on the cot. His jacket was hanging around his shoulders. His arms were folded neatly in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. He was sitting calmly, but Matthew could tell by the way one shoulder was held at a strange angle that he was hurt. He was wearing a black sweater, but Matthew imagined there were bandages wrapped around the Russian's chest, protecting the gunshot wound that was still healing.

Ivan stood when he saw Matthew. His eyes lit and he looked relieved. He met Matthew at the bars and reached through to try and hug the little Canadian, but the bars were thick and prevented him from doing so.

"Ivan.." Matthew whispered. The Russian slipped one of his hands through and Matthew took it. He nuzzled his face into the hand, wetting it with his tears. It was so good to see his Russian. It was so very good to see that he was alright. And here. In Canada. With him.

Two guards sat at the control cable. They shifted nervously. One cleared his throat. Matthew turned to them.

"Leave the room, please. Both of you."

They began to protest. Matthew shook his head and pointed to the exit. "I will be fine. I need to ask Mr. Braginsky some questions and I would prefer to do it alone. Please leave."

Grudgingly, the guards left their stations at the control panel and left the room. The door clicked closed behind them. Matthew and Ivan were alone.

Matthew went to the control panel and eyed it for a moment. Then he pushed one of the buttons. The heavy steel door to Ivan's cell made metallic squeaking sounds as it slowly slid to the side. Ivan backed away from the doors, staying in the cell.

Matthew stepped inside with him, his eyes never leaving the Russian's. Dark blue, almost purple eyes met light, gentle violet. They stood facing each other, gazing, waiting. Ivan had his smile, tho it seemed to be masking something else. Something that hurt. Something sad and lonely. Matthew felt nervousness gnawing at his stomach, but he pushed it away. Eventually the little Canadian took in a deep breath and worked up his nerve to speak.

"Why are you here?"

Ivan's expression remained the same. A smile that allowed him to hide. Tho his eyes were going glassy and bright.

"For you, Matvey."

"You've come to kidnap me back to Russia?" Matthew asked.

"No." Ivan took a step towards the little Canadian. Matthew shook his head, stepping back. He held his hand up. Ivan stopped. The Canadian had to get all of his questions out first. And the Russian had to answer everything honestly, or he would turn around, lock the cell doors and walk away from this place forever.

"Tell me the truth.." Matthew spoke softly. His eyes were downcast now. He couldn't look at Ivan. His voice shook as he spoke.

"Did you kidnap me and try to make me part of Russia.. so you could get at America?"

Silence. Total silence. The facility was soundproofed. There was not a single sound other than their breathing and the beats of their hearts. Matthew thought he'd never heard anything so loud.

He stole a peek through his hair at the Russian. Ivan's eyes were on him, but not looking at him. He looked to be struggling with himself internally. Fighting some metal battle inside his own head. Finally.. he spoke.

"Yes."

A sledgehammer could not shatter something so delicate and fragile as the little Canadian's heart as that single spoken word just did. He heard Alfred saying 'I told you so' somewhere in the back of his mind.

SLAP.

Matthew could barely register what he'd just done. The palm of his hand tingled, stinging sharply. The Russian's face was snapped to the side. An angry red handprint was glowing against the pale white skin of his cheek.

The shock of the moment only lasted a few seconds. Matthew yelped when Russia suddenly grabbed him about the neck, shoving him backwards against the wall of the cell. He hit the sore spot on his head with a yelp of pain, and he opened his mouth to cry out apologies.

Ivan held him in place and drew back his fist, ready to punch the little Canadian into submission. The fist was held in the air.. Matthew closed his eyes and drew his arms over his face to protect himself.. but then.. the fist relaxed.. and the Russian's arm dropped to his side.

Ivan's body was around him then, leaning against him. The Russian's forehead was against the wall and his eyes were closed. He was breathing hard, and he was trembling.

The atmosphere in the cell gradually eased from anger and fear to something else. Something sad and sorrowful. Matthew's terror slowly slipped away. He carefully wrapped his arms around the larger man's waist and nestled his face against Ivan's chest. Another long time passed before either of them spoke. When Ivan did speak, Matthew thought that time had stopped and forgotten them both.

"That was plan in beginning." He said so softly that Matthew had to hold his breath to hear him. "Take Canada for Russia, then America would not be so insolent. So.. arrogant. He would be afraid without Canada. Vulnerable."

"...You wanted to start World War Three." Matthew's bottom lip trembled. He didn't want to hear these things.. but he knew he had to. In that moment he hated Russia.. but he did not move his arms from around the larger man's waist. He couldn't. Through all the pain, the fear, the abuse and the heartache. He couldn't let go.

"No," Ivan said, "No war. Only.. upper hand. Put America in his place."

Matthew clenched his eyes against the tears he felt were on their way. His poor, battered heart took yet another hard blow. So it was true. Russia hadn't wanted Canada for himself. He didn't care. He didn't.. love. Matthew hicupped, trying to keep a sob inside. Ivan drew them away from the wall and buried the little Canadian in a warm embrace. This time when he spoke, his voice was stronger.

"I learned alot while you were with me, Matvey. I learned who Canada is. I learned how special, how precious.. how lovely."

A large hand pet back the little Canadian's blond hair, tucking it behind his ear.

"I learned that I need to be with Canada. I am lost without Canada. That day.. on the river.." Ivan's voice broke. Matthew found himself in shock, listening as the mighty Russian began to cry. His words stumbled out, thickly accented. "...on river.. when they came.. when they took you away.. I thought I would die. Not from gunshot.. not from blood.. but from heartache."

Ivan bent to press his forehead against Matthew's. The little Canadian felt their tears mixing together, dripping down onto the scarf he was still wearing.

"I am not sorry for kidnapping," Ivan whispered, "I would do it again. But America be damned this time."

Matthew kissed his Russian. It was soft and sweet. Ivan pulled him close and tilted his head back, drawing his tongue in circles in Matthew's mouth, nipping softly at his bottom lip.

He reached up to bury his hands in Ivan's hair, pulling the man down into a deeper kiss that began to sear at them both. He felt the familiar hardness pushing against his belly, seeking him out.

Ivan picked him up and Matthew was against the wall again, trapped betweeen hard concrete and hard muscles. He wrapped his legs around Ivan's hips and clawed at his sweater. They tusseled in the heat of it, madly trying to shift clothing around, their mouths never breaking contact. Matthew's pants were halfway down his hips, leaving just enough of his bottom bare for proper access. Ivan's length was pushing at him, the mans hips thrusting awkwardly, trying to find the right spot..

The door burst open. In walked America.

"Mattie! Where the he-..."

Authorized personel only? Not in Canada, apparently.

Matthew and Ivan froze, locked in their passionate embrace. Alfred stared at them, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped.

The Russian slowly lowered the Canadian to the floor. Matthew wiggled to pull his pants back up. Russia tucked himself back into place and did up the zipper.

Matthew's cheeks were red. He sheepishly waved to his brother.

"Hi, Al.. uh.. I can explain.."

The American looked as he'd seen a ghost. For once in his life.. he had nothing to say. He turned around.. and left the room. The door closed behind him.

Matthew blinked, confused. Ivan just laughed and pulled the little Canadian close, zeroing in for another kiss. "Where were we?"

"No, wait." Matthew shook his head and gently pushed the Russian away. Ivan raised a brow, but let his hands drop to his sides. Matthew gave him a very serious look. He was aching to make love with Russia again, but this was important.

"I have every right to hate you," he began, "or at least be very, very angry with you."

Ivan looked pained. Guilty. He hung his head. "I know that."

"I don't hate you at all." Matthew quickly stated. "In fact.. I.. I.." He loved him. He loved the Russian. There was no denying that, but it was still too hard to say out loud. He felt his cheeks burn with flush again. He lowered his eyes, embarassed.

"What can I do, Matvey?" Ivan tilted his chin back up. "How can I prove to Canada that I love him?"

Matthew stared into Ivan's violet eyes. His own welled up with more tears. Happiness dripped down his cheeks and he smiled as the Russian bent to kiss them away. So his feelings were mutual. A warm feeling grew in his chest that Old Man Winter could never hope to freeze away.

"Stay here." Matthew said, putting his hand on Ivan's cheek. "Stay here for as long as I stayed there.. in the cabin."

"Here in cell?" Ivan asked, tilting his head.

"Yes," Matthew answered, "At least until I can convince my boss to let you stay with me under house arrest."

The Russian thought about it for a long moment, then nodded. "I will stay. As long as Matvey visits me every day."

Matthew smiled, then giggled when the Russian grabbed for him again. "Conjugal visits?" He squeaked when he was tossed onto the cot. Ivan followed him, then covered him with his body, pinning his wrists above his head to prevent him from getting away.

"Oh yes."

The latest world meeting was being held in China. The better part of the morning had been spent arguing over oil reserves and greenhouse gasses. Italy somehow thought the problem could be solved with pasta. Japan was passive about everything. England and France couldn't agree on anything, and Germany shouted for everyone to shut up. It was business as usual.. with the exception of a much quieter America.

Alfred now waited for his turn to speak and even offered some ideas that weren't completely insane. He discussed diplomatically and was very respectful to everyone.

Canada was proud of him.

Time had passed. Ivan stayed true to his promise and he stayed with Matthew. He dealt with Russian business via a laptop his boss sent to him. When a few months had gone by he returned home.. and Matthew went with him. They travelled back and forth between their countries together and established a working trade agreement that benefited both their economies.

They kept each other warm during long, cold nights.

Russia started attending world meetings again. Canada was always at his side.

No one objected to the new Canadian-Russian alliance. In all honestly, not very many nations even noticed it. Matthew was as quiet, polite and docile as he'd ever been and was ignored at meetings as usual. The only real change anyone saw was that Ivan seemed happier, healthier..

And maybe even a little less scary.

The end.

~OMGAWD it's finally out of my head. GAH. This story has been eating my brain for the better part of the past two weeks. I'm VERY new to Hetalia.. and I know I'm a bit late to the party. I know Hetalia has been around for a few years now and maybe the fanbase has died down a bit.. but I hope that anyone who read this story really enjoyed it. I really thank you for all the comments and encourage you to post most. Maybe a sequel will appear someday.. who knows! I might even tackle a little AmeCan. I know I was a bit hard on poor America in this fic but.. I do like him. I know he deserves some luvins.

Anyway! Thanks for reading. ^_^

~ The Red Angel~


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